In the Shadow of Wonderland
by Drovenich
Summary: Four years have passed since America defeated Russia in the parallel world. Four years of peace and prosperity. But if the nations have learned anything, it's that peace is always fleeting. Sequel to A Crack in the Looking Glass.
1. Prologue

**Dro: **It's _here_! I've been working on this in secret for a few days to get myself a chapter ahead, but I thought it was finally time to post this! And here it is! The long awaited sequel to **A Crack in the Looking Glass**! Please, do enjoy! I hope it's just as good (if not better) than the first installment.

**Chapter Summary: **Flashback prologue, aka, where we left off last time.

**Warnings: **None

**Disclaimer: **It is very unlikely Dro will ever own APH. I would have to become incredibly rich, and currently, I am incredibly poor.

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><p><em>A raindrop splattered on the brick next to his hand, and he glanced up at the overcast sky. Faint rays of sunlight broke through the dreary blanket occasionally, highlighting the finer of parts of London for the briefest moments. He leaned against the smooth, old brick, eyes roaming the skyline of his city but not really seeing anything that was in front of him. His mind was occupied with other thoughts, other considerations, other fears. He wondered not for the first time—but for the hundredth, if not thousandth—why that man had sent <em>him_ to this place. He'd gotten no true explanation from the boy himself, nothing except the cryptic message:_

'_Because there was nothing for me there.'_

_What did that mean in reference to the state of that other world, the world that existed somewhere far beyond his own and yet so close that he could almost touch it with his fingers? Another drop landed on the brick. Had he lowered his head further, placed his eye just above the red, faded brick, he could've seen the way the water distorted the reality around it. But he chose not to, just as he chose not to question the motives of that boy. After he had come upon the boy, standing dazed in his own home, he'd known this situation was bound to become more complicated._

_But the boy had said nothing of his world other than that single sentence, and he had been forced to let the boy go. He certainly couldn't have forced him to stay. The boy had proved he was much stronger than himself, and he hadn't been willing to risk harm, especially when he knew so little. So he had watched from his window as the boy walked solemnly down the street and disappeared around the corner._

_And he had not seen the boy since._

_Not until this very moment. _

_He did not dare look the boy in the eye, and he did not need to make eye contact or acknowledgement whatsoever for the boy to stop walking, turn to his right, and take a position right to him. He stared out at the open water, dull and listless as the sky. And then he spoke._

"_I apologize if I have caused you trouble, Arthur."_

"_You have not. Thankfully, I was still shocked enough by Alfred's return to feign ignorance to your presence here."_

"_I did not forbid you from telling them."_

"_It's best that way. They've all relaxed with the knowledge that their involvement with your world is over." From his periphery, he spotted a shallow, dry smile caress Italy's lips._

"_My world, you say? That is, regrettably, not what I would call it. It has ceased to want me as a part of it."_

"_Do you plan to stay here forever?"_

"_I do. But don't be alarmed. I will make sure my presence here is not an obvious one. I only wish to fade into obscurity in a place where I may still have a chance to live some semblance of a life. Something that is impossible to me in the place you call 'my world.'"_

"_Alfred still hasn't told me everything that happened."_

"_And I expect he may never."_

"_I suppose that means you won't either."_

_Feliciano shook his head. "No, Arthur. I'm afraid it is not my story to tell. I was but a pawn in the hands of a black king. Alfred was the earthly savior that toppled him. If it is anyone's story to tell, it is his."_

_Arthur sighed, forcing the air sharply from his nose. "I understand." Three more drops cascaded downward, one landing on his glove._

_Feliciano flipped around the umbrella in his hand, popping it open over both their heads just as the downpour began. Arthur didn't budge. "Why are you here? In London still?"_

_He smiled wryly. "I had to check on someone before I left. He arrived a bit after me."_

"_I see." Arthur considered that information carefully, as it was liable to reveal a great many things. "You will leave now then?"_

"_Yes. I doubt we will meet again in any near decade."_

"_I hope you find what you're looking for then."_

"_And I wish the same to you."_

_Arthur let his lips tug upward. "I already have."_

"_Then I wish you never lose it."_

"_Thank you." He tapped his gloved fingers on the dampened bricks. "But…" Feliciano stilled, the brief flicker of graceful movement in his shoulders abruptly stopping. "I must ask you…your very presence here…does it leave any possibility of interference from the other side? Of any kind? I know enough to know that your very existence in our world leaves a lingering link between the two. Can you give me your word that your presence does not threaten us?"_

_Feliciano's wise eyes seemed to consider this. Arthur found it strange to describe the other man that way. But yet there it was, a calm, collected, wise, and irreparably emotionally damaged Feliciano Vargas, standing tall and proud right next to him. He let out a shallow breath. "The only assurance that I can give you is that the biggest threat from my world was defeated by your hero. There is no other threat—not when I left—that was big enough to breach your world. But my knowledge is now limited to what I experience here, so I can give you no guarantee of eternal safety from otherworldly threats."_

"_Then you must realize the selfishness of being here?"_

"_I do. And so be it. For I have lost any sense of caring for things such as selfishness and selflessness. I will do only what I want, only what my few remaining desires tell me to do."_

"_You have been hurt."_

"_I have."_

_Arthur let his sympathy get the best of them. "You should go now. Wherever your want."_

"_Very well. I suppose 'goodbye' or 'farewell' is more appropriate than 'see you again'?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Then 'farewell,' Arthur."_

_And then he was off. The rain soaked Arthur's hair, his trench, his pants, his shoes, but he didn't bother running for cover. Instead, he turned his head for the very first time in their entire exchange, watching the retreating form of the dark-clothed Feliciano with his black umbrella as he stepped off the bridge and swept down the water-logged London street, leaving shallow splashes and endless ripples in his wake. Endless distortions. Endless warps of reality._

_When the boy disappeared from view, Arthur turned back toward the river, staring down at the disturbed water, its former calm broken by a countless number of individual drops, ripples crashing into one another, overlapping, fighting to the death for dominance. A million ripples. A million possibilities. Arthur cursed at the water, within it a waving, trembling reflection of himself. _Why did you send him here? What on Earth made you think it was okay to send him here? What were you thinking, you fool? _He whispered it out loud, echoing the inner complaints of his mind. He whispered it lowly to the dancing, distressed water._

_But it didn't answer back._

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><p><em>He froze, the sound of a hushed insult filling his ears. He frantically looked around for its source in the pounding rain but found no one of consequence or blame. Some compulsion of unknown origin made him trail his eyes downward toward the quaking puddle at his feet. But the only thing that stared back up at was himself. Then he dared to peek from underneath his umbrella, eyes honing on the dim light filtering through the light gray clouds. Back under the safety of his shield a few moments later, he shook the rainwater out of his hair, simultaneously shaking his head and chastising himself for hearing voices. Fairies were one thing. They were real. And usually harmless. Disembodied voices, on the other hand, were always a bad sign.<em>

_He continued his trek down the newly laid street, his path just happening to coincide with the direction of the newly built Parliament building. It's bright red brick, slightly darkened in the rain, jutted out above several of the buildings still under construction. As he sauntered down the street, eyes focused on the fresh, revitalized world around him, he honed in on every single sign of new life and recovery. Even in the rain, people were still working on houses, on stores, on skyscrapers even. From the ashes of a city older than he could place, a new civilization and a new generation was rising. _

_And Arthur could only hope and pray it would never have to witness the horrors of its ancestors, the pain and suffering of its past. His foot hit the first step of the Parliament building, and he paused, turning around briefly to face the new incarnation of a street he'd walked a billion times, on grass, on dirt, on cobblestone, on blacktop and bright paint, Along its sides were a hundred houses and fifty shops, some half-finished, some barely more than foundations. But they were _there_, and that was all that mattered._

_He smiled. _

_London was coming back to life._

_And with it, so was he._

_He clutched the box containing the book he'd gone to pick up, smiling thoughtfully at its contents. Finally, he could dwell on magic that wasn't of immediate need. Finally, he could use his knowledge to do what he wanted to do and not what was required of him. The more and more things recovered, the more alive and _free_ he felt. He'd been chained to the label of "savior" and "leader" for too long. He couldn't wait for the day that he could sink back into obscurity, back into the nameless, faceless nation behind a great country, where he could drink tea and watch the telly and snicker at clever little spells on his own time. _

_At the end of the street, he could see that world slowly creeping nearer and nearer, returning to him at last. _

_And he couldn't help but laugh._

_Laugh at the world._

_Laugh at himself._

_Because the world was free. And so was he. _

_And he was, without any shadow of a doubt, assured that it would stay that way for at least a century or more. The world would not soon forget what the threat of tyranny could bring upon it. The world would work together now. It would smile and shake hands and nod politely. It would talk and whisper and murmur instead of yell and scream. One day, it would likely regain its darker emotions. _

_But that day was far, far off._

_And until then, Arthur would enjoy every last shred of his freedom._

_So he turned around and stomped, both undeniably determined and completely carefree, up the steps to his brand new Parliament building, through its gorgeous new white doors, and down the marble-floored hall to his gleaming and pristine new office, where he swung open a new door, stepped inside, sat down at his new oak desk, picked up his blinking mobile, pressed two buttons, listened to it ring, smiled as a happy, familiar, loving voice picked up, and started a brand new day._

_And a brand new life. _

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><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Questions answered? I hope so. Well, some of them.

**Next Chapter:** Four years have passed since the end of the war with Russia. England spends his time contemplating the state of the world, optimistic. Until he gets a very rude awakening.


	2. Gone But Not Forgotten

**Dro: **First chapter! Great turnout for the prologue, guys! I'm proud of you! Keep it up! I hope you really like this one. I'm working really hard to make the plot, like, mind blowing. So, read and **review**, the normal drill!

**Chapter Summary: **Four years have passed since the war with Russia ended. Arthur has become comfortable in his new life. He spends his time contemplating the world around him and the recovery. Then he wakes up to a nightmare.

**Warnings: **Violence, Language

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, despite my wishes, I have not magically altered the world to make myself the creator or owner of Hetalia. Though I am still trying.

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><p>Arthur sat at his new desk. Or should he say old desk? He ran his hand across the oak again. It had been the only salvageable thing from his old home. He'd had it searched a few days ago as the rebuilding hit his former neighborhood, and low and behold, they'd found his favorite old desk just sitting there in the rubble, nearly untouched. It had a few new scratches, sure, but it had had many before that, many from ages long past. The new ones were just the marks of another major event in history that it had witnessed like so many before this. He sighed happily. His new house was finally a <em>home<em> now. At first, he'd been restless when he'd moved into this place. It was larger than his old home, more lavish (unnecessarily so in Arthur's opinion, but his new government leaders had insisted), and far too _empty_.

Empty partially because most of his belongings had been destroyed. He'd accumulated very few personal belongings during the war with Russia, and anything he'd had before that had been lost to the destruction of London. So at first, this house had felt cold and foreign. During the first year, he'd avoided the house as much as possible. Sleeping in his cramped government office felt _familiar_ to him. It was what he had done for most of the war. Sleeping in cramped, messy spaces. He'd only come to his home to takes showers and change his clothes. During the second year, he'd finally started to settle down into a new routine. The house had become more familiar as the memories of the war began to blur into just another part of his past. During the third year, he'd finally started living in like a normal person.

Three days ago marked the fourth year.

Four years since they'd defeated Russia and taken down the Soviet regime. Four years of rebuilding and recovery. London was coming closer to _whole_ every day. Most of the city had been reborn from its ashes. The people had finally returned to their heart, and the city was once more a flourishing commercial and cultural center. Granted, the atmosphere of the city was still much different than he remembered. He was sure it would be that way for quite a while longer. The memory may have begun to blur, but it was still fresh enough to affect the personalities of the people. Four years was not long enough to raise a new generation. The ones who had been hurt most by the war were the ones who were still living in this recovering world. Their fears still fed into the country's sentiment. Their solemn mix of happiness and sorrow was still subduing them. They'd all lost so much, and most were just beginning to regain all of those things.

It would still be a while longer before everyone had a home, before everyone had jobs, before everyone could have a comfortable, safe living again. But they were getting there, day by day. Arthur couldn't wait for that day to arrive. He let his eyes drift to the photograph on his desk. Alfred and Matthew beamed back up at him, matching smiles on their nearly identical faces. He couldn't help but let his own lips tug upward. He hadn't been able to see either boy recently, but they were scheduled to have a world meeting next week, the third since the war had ended. Most of Europe met often, as they were organizing efforts together to rebuild all the broken countries. But on the other side of the ocean, America and Canada were working more with South America and Mexico. The barrier of the ocean was keeping them apart.

He shook his head. He saw Alfred _enough_, and he knew that the day the world could finally say it had completely recovered would be the day he could see Alfred whenever he wanted. There would be no more rigid duties for them then. He chuckled dryly. And he'd thought he'd had a hard time seeing the boys _before_ the war. But now, almost every nation was intimately wrapped up in his and her own country's reconstruction and recovery. They had very little personal time to chat with and visit one another.

Arthur glanced at his phone and then at his clock. It was too late to call Alfred now. He would be asleep across the ocean now, and if Alfred was as tired as he typically sounded, then it would be best to let him have his rest. It had been comparatively simple to rebuild England when compared to the United States. Much of the land on the main continent was still too radioactive to live on, and it would be many, many years before any of habitable again. Alfred was working mostly in the Midwest and northwestern states that had been largely spared from the nuclear attack. Since most of the population centers there hadn't been destroyed (rather, occupied by Soviet forces in order to attack Canada), the people there were having a much easier time picking up normal life again. But compared to Britain, America was very fragmented. It's landmass was proving difficult to complete a massive rebuilding plan even with the reduced area.

But Alfred would make it work. Somehow, he always did.

He picked up his cup and sipped his piping hot tea, flipping open his new spell book. He'd only been doing simple spells lately. He hadn't had enough time for anything complex. Maybe he should go for something harder? He'd finished his work for the day, so he had enough time. He found himself yawning. Or, alternatively, he could take a much deserved nap. He pouted. He could _hear_ Alfred's "old man" jab clearly in his head, but he rolled his eyes and decided to head down to his bedroom. He slipped off his coat and shirt and hung them up, remembering he had a dinner and meeting with some members of new Parliament later that day. He set his mobile to wake him up in three hours. Then he let himself fall on his bed. He pulled a blanket over himself and rolled over, letting his eyelids fall.

The moment he woke up, he knew something was very, very wrong. Firstly, it was night. Night had been _many_ hours away when he'd settled down for his nap. Secondly, his alarm should have woken him up from said nap. And he wasn't a heavy enough sleeper to _not_ hear it. He always woke up to his alarm. The battery certainly hadn't been running out. He'd charged his phone earlier that day. So, why hadn't he woken up?

And lastly, he got the very distinct feeling that _someone else _was in the room with him. He made absolutely no movement, feigning sleep, listening carefully for any sound of movement. Then he caught it. So close to completely silent that he almost missed it. The sound was more a shifting of air than actual noise, but Arthur had honed in on what he was searching for. Whoever it was inched closer to his bed with every step. Arthur could almost imagine a knife in the assailant's hand, poised to stab him to death or slit his throat in a split second.

But Arthur was ready for him. Even now, four years later, he was still too paranoid—still had too many nightmares, that is—to sleep without a weapon nearby. Before the assailant could react, Arthur whipped a gun out from under his pillow, aiming it straight the man's face. The man froze. Arthur couldn't see his face. He was garbed all in black, nothing but his eyes visible in the darkness. He was some kind of hired professional.

"Who the hell are you?" He demanded.

The man said nothing, and Arthur was about to raise his voice higher when he caught the flash of movement behind him from within his mirror. He ducked just in time to avoid what could have been a brutal blow to the head, and he rolled off his bed as the first assailant lunged at him. A second later, he had heaved his bedroom door open and was charging down the hall. If he could get out into the street, he could alert his neighbors and gain more ground to fight on. _Damn. Should have grabbed my phone. Could called backup._ He was halfway down the stairs when he spotted another black shadowing rushing from his kitchen. _How many are there?_ What _was_ this? Who had sent multiple assassins after him?

He leapt over the banister of the staircase, landing on top of the third assailant, who crumpled to the floor. Then he made for the door. He was reaching for the handle when he the pain shot through his back. He cried out, falling into the door and dropping his gun. The other two assailants had caught up to him, and one had thrown a knife into his back. He regained his balance and managed haul the door open…

…Only to come face to face with a sour-faced Yao Wang, backed up by six more masked men. Arthur was so shocked, he didn't remember to move until it was too late. The two pursuing assailants caught up to him and grabbed him from behind, of them wrapped his hand firmly around the handle of the knife in Arthur's back. He twisted it slightly, warning Arthur not to try anything. Arthur gasped in pain and was forced to allow the men to drag him backward into his house.

Yao and the other masked men followed them inside, and one of the men closed the door behind him. The group stopped in Arthur's living room. Yao's mildly irritated expression didn't change, not even when he started talking. "Arthur. Is has been quite a while, yes?"

Of course it had. Yao wasn't really allowed to do much of anything these days, not on the international scale anyway. He had basically been forced to remain in his own country and concern himself only with China's affairs. The only reason Yao wasn't in prison indefinitely for his loyalty to Russia was because he'd given them all so much aid in rebuilding. But that did nothing to forgive his crimes. Yao had been the scourge of Asia during the war. The number of countries he'd ruined was enormous. They had let him off _easy_, so why was he _here?_ Why would attack now? What did he have to gain?

"What do you want? If you wish to assassinate me," he said through clenched teeth, "then get on with it."

Yao's expression finally changed. His mouth curled up at one end into a vicious smirk. "I will not be the one that kills you." He looked Arthur over. "Unfortunately for you." He added.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Yao didn't answer him. Instead, he ordered the masked men to do something in Chinese. They took off up the stairs. Arthur glared. "What are you up to?" He was hyper-aware of the knife in his back, but he was either going to die her or…worse, so he figured tempting fate wouldn't hurt in this case.

"You will find out soon enough." Yao rolled his eyes thoughtfully. He twirled a single lock of the long hair hanging freely behind his shoulders. "Though I do have a question for you. The connection with the other world is still open, right?"

Arthur felt his blood run cold. "What?"

"The connection to the parallel world where our might war _heroes_ came from. It's still there, correct?" Yao's eyes narrowed as his grin widened. "Because you sent Italy there."

Arthur's mouth dried out. How could Yao possibly know about that?

"I see from your expression that I am right." He sighed peacefully. "Good. That makes this so much easier. I was quite afraid I was mistaken. That would have ruined everything."

"Ruined what?" He growled. "What are you planning? Are you going to invade those people?"

Yao's eyebrow went up, and he broke out into a fit of laughter. "I am not a fool, Arthur. I know my limits. No. I will accomplish something greater and more achievable all at once." At this, the masked men returned from upstairs with two of Arthur's spell books clutched in their hands. One contained a page on which Arthur had written out an improved version of the parallel universal spell. The other was a book on…Arthur felt all the blood drain from his face.

"Just…just what exactly are you plotting, Yao? You can't honestly be doing what it looks like." Arthur was on the verge of _begging_ now. Yao couldn't _possibly _think that _that_ was a good idea.

Yao frowned at him. "You have destroyed my chances at being great in this world. I only seek to renew those chances." He lifted Arthur's chin with his hand, forcing Arthur to look him in the eye. "I will regain what I have lost. And you will lose all you have gained at my expense. I will make sure of that. I do apologize if you find this unfair, Arthur, but that is the nature of _war_, no?"

"The war is _over_, Yao!"

"The war is _never_ over. Your first mistake was believing it to be so. You last mistake was letting yourself become comfortable again. You are paranoid now but not prepared. Not prepared for what I have in store for you." He turned away and headed back toward the door. "You will be taking a trip with me now. To a place where we will not be disturbed. After I have completed the next two stages of my plan, you will be removed from _my_ care."

"You call this _care_?" Though Arthur was a lot more concerned about _who's_ _care_ he would be put into after Yao's.

"I have not broken your bones and heinously tortured you, have I? You can still speak and breath and think. The knife in your back was an unfortunate repercussion of your pathetic escape attempt. I will make sure you are patched up correctly once we reach our destination. Until then, I am sure the _magnificent England_ can handle something like a simple stab wound. You have, after all, survived so much worse." He nodded his head, and the men began to drag him back toward his front door. He thrashed, trying to get out of their hold, but all he received for his efforts was another twist of the knife. He let himself go limp after that, the men basically carrying him to Yao's awaiting car. He thought of calling out for help, but he didn't want any innocent civilians to end up dead because of this.

Once he was in the car, seated at a uncomfortable angle due to the knife, he craned his neck to look up at Yao, spitting in the man's face. Yao scowled and backhanded him. "Insolent fool. Learn your place for once." His eyes narrowed, a malicious gleam flashing through them for a brief moment. "Fine. Have it your way." He looked back at the single man who hadn't entered the vehicle or vanished into the night. "The house. Burn it down."

"No!" Arthur tried to get up, but the men quickly restrained him, tying his hands and feet roughly. He ignored the knife and the bindings, trying his hardest to get free. But it was to no avail. His house. His new _home._ His _desk_. No. No. No. He had _just_ reclaimed his home. Not again. Not all his belongings. All the pictures. All his memories. No. No. No. Not _again._

But he couldn't do anything to stop them. Just like last time. Just like the bombings. As they began to drive away, Arthur caught one last glimpse of his new home.

Going up in flames.

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><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Emo beginning? Of course. What else did you expect?

**Next Chapter: **Canada and Russia enjoy a quiet night together. Then China stops by for a visit...


	3. The Bell that Tolls

**Dro:** Hey, in case anyone didn't get the memo from **World Powers**, I've set up a **World Powers forum** for questions and discussion. And, if anyone would like a **forum** for **A Cracking in the Looking Glass **and **this story** (which I call the **Wonderverse**), do tell me, and I'll put one up right away. Other than that, I just ask the usual. Please read and **review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Matthew and Ivan enjoy a night at home together. Then Yao comes for a visit...

**Warnings: **Violence, Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro will never own APH. It's just that simple. And sad. So, so, so sad.

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><p>"Come sit, Matvey! The game is on!" Ivan called.<p>

Matthew grabbed the popcorn and chips and rushed back into the living room, where Ivan was resting on the couch, his feet propped up on Matthew's old coffee table. Matthew plopped down next to him and sat the snacks on the table. "Did I miss anything?" He glued his eyes to the TV screen, where he watched the hockey game commence.

"_Nyet_. It just started."

Matthew smiled and scooted closer to the man next to him. "I'm glad you decided to come."

A light smile brushed Ivan's lips. "I promised you, da?"

"Yeah. You did. But you're always busy, and I was afraid something would come up."

Ivan's hand rose up and caressed his cheek. "I would not miss this for the world Matvey, spending time with you."

Matthew turned his head away, hiding his blush. When he'd invited Ivan over last week, he'd almost been sure the man would decline. They had never been particularly open about their relationship, and spending too much time together was suspicious. Matthew had expected it to get even worse after Al and Ludwig had described their harrowing adventure in the parallel universe, where Al had fought and killed _another Ivan_. Ivan had been _enraged_ at Alfred for several weeks after that, and even now, four years later, Ivan refused to say more than a sentence at a time to Alfred.

Matthew was conflicted about this. He loved Ivan, but he loved Alfred too. He couldn't cut either one out of his life, so he was forced to work in time with them in a way that would allow them to completely avoid each other. Which was hard considering Alfred liked to burst in to his house for a "surprise" visit at random times. _More like a "Ivan check" visit._ He still remembered with perfect clarity the time that Ivan and Alfred had ended up in a fist fight in the middle of his hallway a few months back. He still hadn't gotten that wall fixed.

"Matvey?"

"Hmm?"

Ivan was looking at him worriedly. "Are you all right? You seem distracted."

"Oh, no, I'm fine." He sank bank into the sofa cushion. "Just thinking."

"I see."

Matthew inwardly cringed. Ivan no doubt knew what he was thinking. It was a common annoyance, Alfred's intrusion into their relationship. Matthew was afraid to admit that it _was_ straining their relationship. It didn't help that Alfred had been treating him differently since he'd returned. His brother had never been _this_ affectionate to him before. But every time they were together, Alfred ended up a _little too close_ and a _little too touchy_. Matthew knew this was a result of Alfred's relationship with the _other_ Canada from _that_ place, and he wished he could do something to alleviate Alfred's feelings.

Arthur and Alfred were in a stable relationship, as far as he knew. Of course, they still had arguments, but they'd always done that. In the four years they'd been dating, though, nothing serious had ever threatened their relationship, and Matthew couldn't help but smile when saw them together, finally openly admitting the feelings they'd had for each other for who knew how long. The other nations hadn't been surprised to find out to they had feelings for each other, but they'd certainly been surprised to see they'd finally stopped pretending they didn't. Alfred and Arthur had always been stubborn and oblivious when it came to one another. Until now. Now they actually _knew_ each other. They finally let themselves begin to understand the other. And with that, Matthew found himself relaxing more and more every day as he watched their relationship become more and more stable and deep.

He flicked his eyes up to Ivan. The man was watching the TV with excited eyes. Hockey was something they could both enjoy, and it didn't involve them going into public. Public and Ivan didn't typically mix, as Matthew had learned in the past. Ivan had tended to isolate him from human beings in the past, and he was awkward and uncomfortable around large crowds. Matthew could respect that too. After all, he wasn't exactly the most _outgoing_ person in the world himself. He could enjoy a quiet night in watching a good game just the same as Ivan.

So that was what he did. He snuggled closer to the man he loved, and eventually, Ivan put an arm around him. Amidst their shouts of anger and intermittent cheers, they munched happily on popcorn and chips. Ivan had—like usual—brought a bottle of vodka with him, but Matthew was adamant about saving it for later. He hated getting drunk during games. It ruined the memories. Ivan had grumbled about this little quirk at first, but he'd gotten over it for Matthew's sake.

When the game ended, Matthew stretched his legs and yawned. "You want something to eat? We haven't had a real meal. I can fix something."

"If you'd like, Matvey. I don't want to become an inconvenience."

Matthew smiled and leaned down, pecking Ivan on the lips. "You're never an inconvenience to me, Ivan. Let me go preheat the oven. I'll be right back." He scuttled off toward the kitchen, thinking about what kind of romantic meal he could cook for the two of them.

Ivan watched him go, smiling to himself. He liked Matvey. He liked Matvey a lot. Despite being rather timid and shy, Matvey wasn't afraid of him. And that was more than he could say about most people. Originally, he'd thought Matvey was a fool for being so open and easygoing around him. People were likely to get hurt around him. That had been the past though. When Ivan had thought _himself_ a monster, and thus, portrayed himself as such to others. He had changed his opinion of himself over the years. He still considered himself rather dangerous. He was prone to violence, and occasionally, he lost control of himself. But Matvey stuck with him anyway. Matvey was the only one able to calm him down when he lost his temper, the only one Ivan could see himself really _being_ with. He and Matvey had an understanding of each that Ivan had been searching for in another for countless years. It had taken him this long to find it, and he wasn't planning on letting it go anytime soon.

He listened to the sounds of Matvey's strong, yet delicate hands working in the kitchen. He picked up the remote and turned the TV off, resolving to help him cook dinner. But just as he rose, the doorbell rang, and he paused. He heard Matvey pause too. He obviously hadn't been expecting anyone. "I will get it, Matvey."

"Okay!" He heard Matvey reply from the kitchen.

He marched over to the door, wondering who it was that would come by unannounced. Of course, his first thought was _America_, but then again, that was _always_ his first thought whenever something went awry. He shook his head, imagining himself getting into another fight with Matvey's brother in the hallway again. That had not ended so well last time, and he wasn't really in the mood for a repeat. He grabbed the doorknob and turned it, pulling the front door open to reveal…

…Yao?

"Yao?"

The Chinese man stood on Matvey's doormat, his brown eyes widening at the sight of the tall Russian standing in the doorway. "Ivan…" He whispered. Then his entire demeanor changed, and he smiled, the shock fading from his eyes. "I did not know you would be here!"

Ivan scrutinized him. What business did Yao have with Matvey? The two of them rarely ever talked. It was certainly possible Yao was here on official business, but in that case, wouldn't Matvey have _known _Yao was coming?

"And I did not know _you_ would be here. So we are on the same level, da?"

Yao cringed slightly, and Ivan immediately caught it. _What is it you are up to, my old friend?_ Yao would not be the person he first suspected of treachery. They had a close history together, but they had fallen out recently, and there was a silent, thick sense of animosity between them.

"I came by to speak with Matthew."

"For…?"

"Is it really your business, Ivan? It is a personal matter."

"And what kind of 'personal matter' could _you_ of all people possibly have with Matvey, hmm?"

Yao stiffened. "I am afraid that is none of your business, Ivan." He attempted to enter the house.

Ivan blocked his way, eyes narrowing. "I am making it my business." _Something here is not right. Yao is not acting like himself. _"Matvey is off of work today. If you are here on official business, you may come back on Monday, da?"

Yao glared at him for a moment, then spat out, "Foolish man. You could have made this so much easier."

"What?" Ivan tensed, ready to attack. Or so he thought. Out of nowhere, something sharp struck his neck, and he gasped, plucking the sharp object out of his skin. It was a tranquilizer dart. "Shit…" His body suddenly became heavy, and he fell to his knees. "Yao…what are you doing?" He wavered, the drug taking its course through his body. He fell over backward, his hand striking the table next to the door and sending a vase crashing to the ground. He looked up at Yao, his eyelids heavy. He felt _betrayed_. "Yao…"

"I am sorry, Ivan. But it appears I must alter my plans and bring you with me. I could leave you, I suppose, but then again, having two hostages is better than one." He said, seemingly bored and uncaring.

"Wha…" Ivan's speech was slurred, and he blinked, trying to clear his mind, but it only got blurrier and blurrier until it faded completely.

* * *

><p>Matthew turned the dials on the oven, adjusting the temperature, and wondered who was at the door. He hadn't been expecting any visitors. He supposed it could be someone from his government with some official news or orders from his boss, but it was an odd time of day. It could be an emergency, but he hadn't felt any disturbances with his country. Perhaps another country had had an emergency and they were sending aid? He scoffed at himself. There were a thousand possibilities, and almost all of them were harmless.<p>

He heard Ivan open the door, and a muffled conversation reached his ears. Was it someone Ivan knew? Another nation? He tensed. He hoped to God it wasn't _Al._ He didn't want to have even _more_ of his home to repair. But the conversation wasn't loud and obnoxious so he figured it couldn't be Al. Granted, Alfred had been more subdued since he'd returned from the other world, but he usually returned to his former demeanor whenever he was around Ivan. Matthew, of course, could guess why that was, considering just what happened in that other world.

He reached up into his cabinet to grab some plates when he the sound of a loud crash hit his ears. He froze, arm raised, and listened. The talking had stopped. What had happened? Had someone been attacked? Fear shot through his veins. Was Ivan the attacker or the victim? Ivan could take care of himself, but…

Matthew felt his heart skip a beat.

Someone was _right behind_ him.

Someone that was most definitely not Ivan. Without hesitation, he grabbed a heavy plate off the shelf and slung it around, smashing it into the person's head. A man dressed all in black tumbled to the floor, unconscious.

"Who…?" He looked up just in time to see at least five more men rush into his kitchen. He wrenched open a drawer and pulled out two knives, shifting into a fighting stance. "Don't come any closer!" He shouted.

The men surrounded him. They were masked, but Matthew could _feel_ their smirks. They knew there was no way he could evade them all. They attacked. Matthew struck two of them in the chest and abdomen, and they went down screaming, but one of them grabbed Matthew's right wrist. Another one hit him in the shoulder. Pain shot through his arm, and he cried out, dropping the knife. The other man twisted his right arm, and he was forced to drop the other knife before the man snapped his wrist in half. His hands were forced behind his back and he was pinned to another man's chest. He struggled and kicked out, but he couldn't stop them from advancing. The two other men walked right up, one grabbing his legs to prevent him from moving. The last man pulled out a soaked cloth, and Matthew gasped. Chloroform. He struggled in vain to get away, and the cloth was pressed against his mouth. He tried his best to hold his breath, but eventually, he was forced to breathe in, inhaling the toxic fumes.

The world spun around him, and his body went slack. He looked up with weary eyes. The thought "terrorists" ran through his clouded mind, but as soon as he thought it, he knew he was wrong. Because Yao walked into his kitchen, and in the background, Matthew saw another group of men who were supporting an unconscious Ivan. Yao walked over to him just as his vision began to wane, and he smiled down at Matthew, patting his hair.

"No worries, now, Canada. As soon as I get what I desire, I'll bring you and Ivan right back here, okay?"

Matthew wanted more than anything to ask just what it was that Yao wanted, but his consciousness crumbled around him, and he fell into darkness. Yao stood over him, frowning slightly. "Take them both to the car, and make sure you tie them up just in case. We're returning to the rendezvous point. As soon as the scout team gets back with the news on America, we'll be leaving. Understood?"

His men nodded silently. One of them heaved Matthew over his shoulder and carried him away. Yao waited until he was alone in the kitchen, and then he let himself smile. He had not expected Ivan to be here at all. This was…interesting. He would have to see how this panned out when he returned. He snorted. If he could get Arthur to keep cooperating. So far, his means of getting that stubborn man to do what he wanted had been less than savory, and if this continued, then he wouldn't be alive for the grand finale. And that just wouldn't do at all. He would need peace offerings in order to get his favor back.

Then again, perhaps this Canada and Ivan would make good offerings. He sighed happily as he walked out of the kitchen. Maybe he wouldn't return this Canada after all. The boy _could_ have more than one use, especially when…

He smiled to himself.

Yes, he would most definitely have to see how _that_ played out.

He walked out the door and slammed it behind him, his smile widening with every step.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Well, that's not good...

**Next Chapter: **Alfred decides to pay Matthew a visit, only to make a horrifying discovery.


	4. A Hero in Denial

**Dro: **According to FF's announcements, everything should be back up and working. So, if you can, please drop a **review**! I'm really sorry about all the hassle there's been with reading and reviewing stories over the past few days.

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred decides to visit Matt. A little too late.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately, the star refused to grant my wish, so I still don't own APH.

* * *

><p>Alfred whistled happily as he strutted down the street. He hadn't seen Matt lately, so he'd thought he'd drop by for a quick visit. This week's meeting <em>was<em> in Canada after all, so Matt couldn't possibly get angry at him for showing up unannounced this time, right? He inwardly cringed, remembering the time he'd ended up in a fight with Ivan in Matthew's hallway. He certainly didn't want a repeat of that. Not that he minded beating up Ivan. But he really didn't want Mattie furious with him. He hated seeing his brother angry. Or sad, for that matter. Every time Matthew looked sad, Alfred got a nasty flashback of the _other_ Matt, and then he would start feeling guilty all over again. He had such a confusing mess of emotions when it came to Matt now.

He shook his head. He would make this a quick and harmless visit. He just wanted to know how his brother was doing, that was all. Humming happily, he turned the corner onto Matthew's block and headed toward his house. Second on the left. He'd forgotten where Matthew had lived before he'd moved to this quaint little suburb. As he approached, he noticed something out of the ordinary. He came to a halt, honing in on his brother's front door. It was open. But there was no one standing on the porch, and no one was in the yard.

A sudden, inexplicable chill ran down Alfred's spine, and he found himself unnaturally panicked. He picked up his pace, marching down Matthew's driveway and up the front steps. He stopped cold in front of the door, afraid to push it all the way open. What would he find on the other side? It was possible it had been a common burglar, sure. That must have been it. Matt had been robbed, and he was at the police station filing a report. Right. He held up a shaking hand and tapped the door. It opened all the way, revealing an almost spotless house. Almost.

Right in front of the door was an overturned side table, a shattered vase littering the floor around it. The house was completely silent. Alfred's pulse started to race. He entered the house, quickly scanning it for any signs of Matt. He was afraid to turn each corner, terrified he'd find…No. Matt was fine. He _had_ to be. He slipped into the kitchen and froze.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

"Oh God."

He prayed to every God he'd ever heard of that it wasn't Matt's. But if Matt was fine, then where was he? He whipped around, about to break into a frantic run up the stairs. Then he saw it. Pinned to the wall was a envelope.

An envelope with his name on it.

He stared at it for what must have been several minutes, his mind completely at a loss for what the hell was happening here. Eventually, without any conscious recollection of it, his hands unpinned the envelope and tore it open, revealing a neatly folded letter. He slipped it out and unfolded it, his eyes staring at the neat script, uncomprehending, for several minutes. Then he started reading.

_America,_

_I regret to inform you that I have found it necessary to use your brother and his lover as leverage. It has come to my attention that I require your presence in order to a perform a specific ritual. However, knowing your temperament, I quickly realized you would not come of your own accord, so I was forced to resort to other means to get your compliance. _

_I assure you, however, that your brother and Ivan will not be harmed as long as you do exactly as I say. By this upcoming Saturday, I expect you in my world's Paris, at the Eiffel Tower, by 4:00 PM. I will have someone there waiting for you every day until that time. Failure to comply will, regretfully, result in unfortunate consequences for your brother and his lover. Therefore, I would highly suggest your immediate compliance._

_I apologize for the inconvenience and unsavory methods. But I have the need to reach my goals quickly and efficiently, and this happened to be the best way to go about it. Regardless, I hope to see you in Paris by Saturday. _

_Sincerely,_

_Wang Yao_

'_My world.'_

The letter fluttered to the ground.

'_My world.'_

No. No. No. This couldn't be happening. His entire body had started shaking. It was supposed to over. He was never supposed have to return that place again. Never. And Mattie…no, this couldn't happen. It just couldn't. But there was his proof staring him right in the face. Matt had been kidnapped, along with Ivan, and taken to the _other_ world by China. The communist China that had been a loyal part of the Soviet Union.

"Oh God…"

He snatched the paper off the ground. Then he was gone. He dashed as fast as he could, his legs carrying him at a breakneck speed back to the bus stop. The entire twenty minute ride back to the city was nerve-wracking. He couldn't keep still, his heart pounding against his rib cage, his fingers jittery and twitching. He knew people were staring at him, but he didn't care. All he cared about was getting Matt back. Matt, who was quite possibly gravely injured. He barely stopped himself from retching when the image of the blood on Matt's kitchen floor assaulted him again.

He pushed roughly past people, ignoring their angry shouts, as he got off the bus. Then he took off again, running at full speed the several blocks to the hotel where nations were steadily arriving in preparation for the conference in a few days time. He tore open the hotel door and ran straight to the stairs, ignoring the open door of the elevator. He had no time for that. He vaguely recognized the man at the front desk yelling at him to stop and calling for security, but he didn't bother listening. He was up four flights of steps before he realized it, though his body was protesting every step, his lungs burning madly.

He wrenched the stairwell door open and rushed down the hallway toward the room that been set up for pre-conference mingling. He burst through the doors, startling everyone one in the room. Several nations screamed, apparently thinking it was a terrorist attack. Arthur, who was standing next to Francis at the refreshment table, dropped his tea.

"Alfred?" He ran over, panicking. "What's wrong?"

Alfred panted for air, feeling numb as he looked into Arthur's worried green eyes. The only thing he could do was hold up the crumpled letter. Arthur took it from him and quickly scanned it, his expression shifting from worried to confused to horrified over the course of seconds. "Oh my God…" He whispered. His mouth hung open, his lips quivering in shock. Finally, he looked up from the paper to meet Alfred's gaze again. "Alfred…"

Alfred swallowed. "Send me back."

Arthur immediately started to pale. "What? I can't—"

"Send me back, Arthur!" He screamed, slamming his fist against the doorway. The wood splintered. Arthur stiffened, gulping. "Now…" His voice softened. "Please, I have to go. I have to save him. It's _Matt_."

"I…I know, but…it's a trap, Alfred!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Alfred cried out. "That doesn't change anything, Arthur. They have _Matt_!"

"Who has Mathieu?" Francis looked apprehensive and suspicious. He'd walked closer to them but was still keeping his distance.

Alfred finally acknowledged that there were other people in the room. He looked them all over. Most looked terrified and confused. "I…" He didn't know what to say. The other nations knew that he and Ludwig had traveled to a parallel world, and they knew (mostly) what had happened there.

Arthur recovered first. "Matthew and Ivan have been kidnapped by someone from the other world." His voice was calm, but his eyes looked haunted.

The room went completely silent as the nations processed this. Ludwig rose to feet from where he'd been sitting with Feliciano and Alfred met his gaze. "Alfred…who was it?"

He swallowed. "China."

"What?" The entire room focused on the man who had just entered. A very confused looking Yao. He bristled at all attention. "Why are you all looking at me? What did I do?"

Arthur frowned. _"You_ did nothing. Your parallel self kidnapped Canada and Russia."

Yao froze. "W-what did you say?" He seemed to be at a loss. "I thought we were done with that world! You said you had defeated the Soviet Union there." He honed in on Alfred.

Alfred nodded dumbly. "Yeah. We did. But…but the other China wasn't actively punished. He was sanctioned heavily, but he gave the rest of the world so much aid that they let him off easy." He swallowed. "I'm getting the distinct feeling that was a mistake."

"Alfred…" Arthur murmured.

"What?" He snapped, his voice hitching. He gasped, realizing he was crying. He wiped his tears away, but more kept coming.

"Oh, Alfred…" Arthur embraced him tightly. "It's going to be all right. We're going to get Matthew back."

"Damn straight we will." He replied. "Because you're sending me there. Now."

"Alfred, let's think about this for a moment." Ludwig, ever the voice of reason, said. "We can't just go barging back to the other world. Why is it exactly that Yao kidnapped them in the first place?"

Alfred's voice died, and his throat closed on him. Arthur saw his pain and started rubbing his back, turning toward the crowd to explain, but Alfred hushed him, trying to regain his ability to talk. "They want me." He mumbled. The pressure in the room seemed to get heavier and heavier. "The other Yao wants me for something. So he kidnapped Matt to get to me. I doubt he wanted Ivan, but since he was _there_…" He left it off there, unable to say anymore.

"Alfred," a pair of comforting hands—Francis'—landed on his shoulders, "this is not your fault, _mon cher_. Please don't blame yourself."

"How is it not my fault, Francis? Matt was kidnapped because of _me_."

"No!" Arthur exclaimed. "He was kidnapped because of China!" Yao paled, and Arthur quickly retracted that. "Not you! The other China!" Yao nodded, but he still looked like he was going to be ill.

Francis guided Alfred over to a chair and sat him down. Alfred put his face in his hands, hunched over. Francis rubbed his back gently. "It's going to be okay, Alfred." As comforting as he was trying to sound, Alfred could hear the fear in Francis' voice. He was terrified that Matthew had been hurt. Alfred couldn't bring himself to say anything about the blood.

The nations had started talking amongst themselves now, all of them wondering what they were going to do. Then again, they didn't really have much of a choice in the matter. If Alfred didn't show up in the other Paris by Saturday, Matt and Ivan were going to die. Arthur came and sat down next to him. "Are you all right, love?"

Alfred sucked in a deep breath. "No." At least he didn't lie. "I'm not, Arthur. You've read the letter yourself. You're going to have send me back."

Arthur looked pained. "I know, but…Alfred, I don't know what kind of ritual Yao wants you for, but I can't imagine it's a harmless one. It…"

"It'll probably kill me. Yeah, I got that from the tone of the letter. Yao wants me as some kind of sacrifice for something, right?"

"That's…likely."

"But what? What could he _need_ me for?"

Arthur shook his head. "I…I don't know. There's a thousand and one things he could use you for, and all of them are bad."

"Great." He sighed. "Look, I don't _want_ to go back there, Arthur, but we don't have a choice. I need to be there in three days. At the Eiffel Tower. Or…or Matt's dead. So, let's just get this over with."

Arthur's eyes suddenly hardened. "I'm not sending you there without a plan."

"What kind of plan could we possibly come up with to get out of _this?_"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't know, Alfred!" He said, exasperated. "But I'm certainly not sending you to _die_."

"We may not have a choice in the matter, Arthur."

Arthur smacked him.

He reeled sideways, hand coming up to cup his cheek. "A-Arthur!" Arthur was looking at him with furious eyes. "What…what was that for?"

"You being a git! Don't say things like that. What happened to your hero mentality?" The room had quieted again, and all eyes were on them.

Alfred's mouth felt dry. "I…" He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Arthur…I certainly don't feel like much of a hero right now, letting my brother get kidnapped and all."

Arthur made a frustrated choking sound. "How many times do we have to say it before you understand that this is _not_ your fault?"

"You can say it all you want, but it won't stop me from feeling guilty."

Arthur stopped himself mid-reply, floundering for a response. His eyes softened. "Alfred…it's going to be okay, love."

"You say that now, sure, but what happens if I fail to get Matt back? What happens if…? I was never supposed to go back there, Arthur. This was supposed to be over! How did China even get here? Wasn't the connection between our worlds broken when Ludwig and I came back? Isn't it supposed to be like…impossible to find the same world again with that spell? So how did Yao even get here in the first place?" He sighed again but tensed when he saw the look on Arthur's face. "What?"

Arthur was deathly pale, guilt now settled firmly in his eyes. "The connection…it isn't closed."

"_What?_" All eyes were on them now. "How is it not closed, Arthur?" Arthur didn't say anything immediately, and he appeared to be reliving something from his past. His eyes were unfocused, and he was clenching his pants' leg so hard his knuckles were white. "Arthur! What's going on? What do you know that I don't?" Arthur only shook his head.

"It's…It's just that…the connection was never closed. It was left open." He refused to meet Alfred's gaze.

"What? How?" Arthur didn't answer. "Arthur! How did the connection stay open?"

"Perhaps I can answer that."

The entire room was stunned into silence by the new arrival. Not a single person had seem him enter, but there he was, in all his glory, standing against the wall. He was dressed completely in black, sleek, slimming, and _dark_. He leaned on the wall with his arms crossed, an air of perfect calm surrounding him.

Feliciano.

The _other_ Feliciano.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro:<strong> The plot, it thickens! Again.

**Next Chapter: **The nations discuss just how they're going to remedy the situation. Feliciano has other ideas.


	5. An Assassin's Ultimatum

**Dro: **Well, this just keeps getting more exciting by the second. The usual request: read and **review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Feliciano maps out a plan of action. It goes awry.

**Warnings: **None

**Disclaimer: **Dro doesn't own APH, people. If you don't know that by now, you have most definitely not been paying attention.

* * *

><p>A choked sound erupted from Ludwig's throat. He suddenly felt dizzy, his eyes unable to process the image in front of him, his brain unable to comprehend even the possibility of that person's presence. But there he was. The Feliciano he'd left behind stood against the wall, dark elegance controlling his countenance. His hair was slightly longer than his own Feliciano's, but somehow, that made him look so much older. That, and his eyes. They seemed to teem with knowledge that stretched from distant millennia. He was calm and calculating, his face betraying no emotion. He was Feliciano, and yet, at the same time, he wasn't. He was everything that Ludwig's own wasn't. He was brave and daring. He was incredibly clever and strategic. He was powerful and graceful all at once. He was a killer…<p>

The elegant man pushed himself from the wall and stepped further into the room, an indifferent line controlling his lips. Brown, knowing eyes roved around the room, as if he was mentally breaking down the thoughts and feelings of everyone else in the room and cataloguing them meticulously. He probably was. Alfred was to recover from his shock.

"W…What are _you_ doing here?" He looked ready to tackle Feliciano to the ground.

"I've been here. For the entire four years. In fact, longer than you." Feliciano answered simply, his voice calm and even.

"_What?"_ Alfred and Ludwig replied in unison.

"Ask Arthur." Feliciano closed his eyes and shook his head. "But I must say, Alfred, it would be better for you if would refrain from treating me like an enemy. I came here to offer my help."

Alfred seemed to be on a verge of a panic attack. "Okay, hold on! Arthur, did you know about him?" He rudely pointed a finger at Feliciano. Arthur seemed to be frozen to the spot, his green eyes uncomprehending. Ludwig knew it was because he was caught and he couldn't think of a way out. He had seen that look on England's face many a time in the past.

"I…Yes."

"Huh? How long?" Alfred seemed to be lost between confusion and anger.

"The whole time. The other me sent him here before you returned. But I decided it would best if I didn't say anything. He promised me he would leave us alone and not interact with any nations. And he hasn't, as far as I know. Until now."

Alfred looked on in total disbelief from Arthur to Feliciano. Before Alfred could speak again, Feliciano cut him off. "When I found out that Yao had been here and kidnapped your Canada and Russia, I figured it was time for me to come out of hiding. I knew you would end up traveling back to my world, and since this is partially my fault, I would like to come with you and help."

"Your fault?" Alfred switched into his defensive mode. "How is this your fault?"

Arthur was the one that answered. "Because his presence here kept the connection open, Alfred."

"…Oh. I see." There was a dull anger building behind Alfred's blue eyes, but he contained it. "Well then, I guess the least you could is help us, huh?"

Feliciano shrugged nonchalantly. "I offer my help not out of guilt but out of logic. The ramifications of whatever Yao is planning could have the potential to affect far more than just you and your immediate family. If there was anything I learned from being a part of the USSR, it is that ambition can quickly spiral into tyranny when it is fulfilled. I do not want to see Yao regain any of the ground we took back from Ivan, nor do I want any of my world's negative influence to permanently affect your own."

Ludwig sighed inwardly. It had been four years, and this Feliciano had become far more stable emotionally, but he was so composed that it was almost disconcerting. His emotions seemed to have dulled and been repressed instead of recovering. Which Ludwig couldn't blame him for after what had happened.

"Ve…"

Ludwig turned his head to peek at his own Feliciano, who had risen along with Romano. Neither Italy seemed to know what to do. Feliciano's eyes were wide and glued to his parallel self. It wasn't everyday you came face to face with a parallel version of yourself, and it seemed to have shocked Italy out of his usual demeanor. He almost looked…_defensive_. There was a hint of anger behind those normally docile brown eyes, and Ludwig wondered where the hell it had come from. He had never seen Feliciano react like that before. He turned back to the other Feliciano, wondering what it was about his presence that set Feliciano off.

The other Feliciano suddenly switched directions and looked him in the eye, and Ludwig felt a pit of nervousness in his stomach. He hadn't seen this Feliciano in years, and he had no idea what feelings the man had for him. Hell, he had no idea what his _own_ feelings were. Feliciano seemed to scrutinize him from head to toe.

"You have been well, yes, Ludwig?"

"Ah…" That had not been what he was expecting. "Yes. I have."

"Good." His eyes briefly flicked back to Ludwig's own Feliciano, and he could have sworn he saw a hint of amusement in them. "So, this is the other me?" Yes. Definitely amusement. "I have watched you from afar at times, Feliciano Vargas." The corner of his mouth perked up. "And you as well, Lovino Vargas. Though you knew that, didn't you?"

Wait, what? He turned back to Feliciano and Lovino. Feliciano was staring at Lovino, who seemed to be at a loss, but then he recovered. "It was _you…_four years ago. You were watching us from across the street when we went into the café. I thought…I thought I imagined that."

"No. No imagination. I was just following up on Ludwig to make sure he was all right." Feliciano had turned back to him, smiling slightly. He said nothing else to Ludwig, but there was a clear message written into those highly intelligent brown irises. _We will speak later._ He turned to face the majority of the nations, including Alfred and Arthur. "Now, I think we should concoct a quick plan and head out, yes? We'll need to time to scout Paris for Yao's hideout. Though I'm pretty sure I know where it is."

Alfred frowned. "And how is that?"

Feliciano smiled that little smile of his, where just the corner of his lips seemed to ridge a millimeter, but that one little movement controlled his entire face. "I knew all of Yao's strongholds and safe houses. I stole their locations from him for Ivan just in case Yao was to defect."

Alfred snorted. "Trusting guy, Russia, eh?"

"You expected more of him?" A single, slim, brown eyebrow rose. "Don't. Ivan had no care for those other than himself. If you were an asset, he desired you. If you were a hindrance, he got rid of you. That was as far as he went into relationships."

"And you worked for this guy?" Turkey piped up. He was looking back and forth from their world's Italy to the other one, as if he couldn't quite believe there were actually two of them.

"I was…not in an emotional state to make the right choices at that time." The subtle shift in Feliciano's tone, from soft and calm and cool to sharp and heated—nearly undetectable in actual speech, but having a profound affect on the atmosphere of the room—immediately silenced Sadik's inquisitive person. Feliciano continued. "The past does not matter at this time, however, and I would like to refrain from discussing it. I can help you if want. I feel obligated to, for the sake of your world and my own, and I will do my best to retrieve your Canada and Russia unharmed if you let me." Arthur made to respond, but Italy kept going. "Keep in mind before you answer that, unlike you, I know intimate details about my world's Yao, including his tricks, his servants, his traps, and his hiding places. I can break down Yao's strategies and find ways around even his most carefully laid plans. I have done it before. And I can do it again."

Arthur and Alfred exchanged glances, and Ludwig found himself ambivalent. He _did_ want Feliciano's help. Hell, they probably couldn't do this without him. Anything they tried by themselves would likely end in disaster. But he was quite honestly afraid of being around this Feliciano while his own was so close. He was afraid of his feelings betraying him. He was afraid of his own Feliciano seeing it that way even if it didn't happen. He was torn.

"Fine." Alfred suddenly said.

All eyes were on him.

"Yes?" Feliciano asked.

Alfred stared him down. "Fine. You can help us."

Feliciano nodded. "Very well. The first thing you must do, however, is calm down. It will be pointless to attempt to plan something so sensitive while you are high strung and frightened. We will meet again later. After dinner. Arthur's room, I believe, would be best, since he charmed it earlier. Room 404. Until then." He made a little wave with his hand, turned, and flitted out of the room, completely silent and uncomprehendingly graceful.

They all stood in silence for several moments until Arthur finally said, "Wait, how did he know I charmed my room?"

Alfred added, "How did he even know your room number?"

No one was quite sure they wanted to know the answer to that.

* * *

><p>"This whole affair worries me." Arthur murmured. Alfred laid beside him, thoughtfully silent, and he leaned over and pressed his lips to his lover's in a brief kiss.<p>

"Me too. I'm worried about Matt, Arthur. What if he's hurt?"

"We can only hope he's not."

Alfred bit his lip. He didn't want to say this, but… "There was blood all over the floor at his house."

Arthur gasped. "Oh God…It…It could have been Ivan's."

"That doesn't make it any better. If Ivan was hurt, then Matt would've been hurt too. Just not physically." Alfred didn't like his brother's relationship with Ivan, but that didn't mean he didn't try to at least respect it. He knew Mattie cared a lot about the Russian. Mattie _loved_ Ivan. Anything that hurt Ivan also had the potential to hurt Matt.

"Alfred…" Arthur ran his hand through Alfred's hair, trying to soothe him. "Please don't try and bear this on your shoulders alone. You know this isn't your fault."

"I know…but…what does Yao want me for, Arthur? What kind of ritual is he planning?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't know, Alfred. I really don't. There's a lot of possibilities. Many, many spells—many dark spells—require a sacrifice. As for why Yao needs you specifically, I can only guess." He leaned over to return Alfred's kiss, pressing their lips softly together before deepening it. Their tongues met briefly before a knock interrupted him. Alfred climbed off the bed and answered, revealing Feliciano hanging around in the doorway. He entered without an invitation and closed the door behind him.

"You're early." Alfred noted. The others weren't supposed to arrive for at least another hour and a half.

"I am." He confirmed. "Pack your things. We're leaving in half an hour."

"Excuse me?" Alfred balked.

"The meeting was a ploy. I don't want to involve anyone more nations than necessary. Therefore, there are four people only I want involved. Getting too many inexperienced people together to try and tackle something of this magnitude is a mistake, but I couldn't tell you that earlier with all of them watching." He said it like was the most insignificant fact in the world. "Ludwig is already waiting with Yao. They both agree."

"Yao?" Arthur questioned. "Why Yao? I understand Ludwig, Alfred, and I, but Yao?"

Feliciano eyed him carefully. "Are you willing to let Alfred go to my world without you?"

"I…what? No, of course not. But I can't go no matter what. I'm the caster of the spell here, which makes me the anchor, so I can't leave. The only way…" A sudden thought struck him. "Yao…" It was something he couldn't believe he'd never thought of. Yao was _old_, much older than himself. Therefore, didn't it make sense that _Yao_ of all people would know… "Magic. Yao can do magic."

Feliciano nodded. "He has not in a long time, but he remembers how. He will act as the anchor. You will go with Alfred. It will do us good to have another magic user on our side while we fight."

"How did you know Yao could do magic?" Arthur asked, curious.

Feliciano smiled his little smile again. "I did some research."

"You mean you spied on him, right?"

Feliciano _really_ smiled this time. "You are catching on, Alfred."

Thirty minutes later, they were gathered in Ludwig's room. Arthur had helped Yao draw the necessary circle for the spell. Ludwig leaned against the wall, seemingly contemplating the situation. Alfred knew that, of course, he was thinking about Feliciano. He didn't want to leave Feliciano anymore than Alfred wanted to leave Arthur. Unfortunately, Ludwig didn't really have the option of taking Feliciano with him. It was too dangerous. Alfred was both surprised and not to find that Ludwig had agreed to go. Ludwig had been clinging to Feliciano since they'd returned, but even he could see that Ludwig's feelings for the other Italy still lingered.

"Finished." Yao said. He had the spell out and was reviewing it again.

Arthur sighed. "Are you sure you can do this?"

"Do not doubt me, Arthur. I was doing magic before you were born. It has been a while, but I know I can still do it. Have some faith in me."

Arthur nodded slowly. They all looked around at one another. Four of them were going back. Feliciano was finally going home to the world he'd forsaken. Ludwig was returning to a world he'd almost gotten himself _too_ attached to. Alfred was facing the same situation. He was afraid he would run into the _other_ Matt, and with his own Arthur there…And Arthur himself was going. Arthur, who had never been there, who had never seen the destruction, who had never seen the parallels of themselves. Something in Alfred's mind was screaming at him not to do this, and he caught a glimpse of some half-formed premonition that depicted ultimate disaster.

But if they didn't go, he would lose Matt, and the world would lose Russia. And that would be a _definite_ disaster. So they had to go no matter what. Any consequences that arose from this couldn't possibly be any worse than losing Matt. If Matt died, Alfred…he didn't know what he would do. He _couldn't_ lose Matt, so he _had_ to go, no matter the cost.

He was the first to step into the circle, his bag slung across his back. Arthur joined him next. Feliciano filed in, nothing but a small black bag hanging at his side. Ludwig was the last to step in, looking abnormally stiff. Yao looked them all over and took a deep breath.

"Are you all ready?"

Arthur's hand shot out and squeezed Alfred's, and Alfred interlocked their fingers. "Ready." He said. Ludwig nodded silently. Feliciano made no movements whatsoever.

Yao sucked in another deep breath and started speaking the spell. His voice was calm and his words were fluid. The circle lit up, and Alfred prepared himself for that inevitable intense pull that accompanied the teleportation. He wondered—feared—for a brief second if Arthur would be torn away from him. Yao sped up slightly as he neared the end of the spell, one small hint of panic evident in his voice. He was afraid of messing up and sending them somewhere they could never return from. Alfred was afraid they would all die there and then Yao would be left thinking it was his fault forever.

He finished it.

Then Italy burst out of the closet and jumped into the circle, grabbing onto Ludwig at the last possible second. They had no time to react. Alfred had let go of Arthur's hand to get Feliciano out, but it was too late. There was a bright burst of light, and Alfred felt that hand of God wrench him away from the world. The next thing he knew, he was staring up an overcast London day, with a brand new Big Ben towering over him.

And then he realized he was alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Uh-oh...-snickers-

**Next Chapter:** Matt and Ivan wake up in Yao's base. Alfred runs into someone unexpected. Something unexpected happens to that unexpected someone.


	6. The Pendulum's Swing I

**Dro: **This plot just keeps getting better and better. Wrote Chapter 6 today. _Love_ it. Anyway, have at it. And please **review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Matthew and Ivan both wake up where Yao has imprisoned them. Alfred runs into an unexpected someone.

**Warnings: **Violence, Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro still doesn't own APH, people! It's only been a day since I last said that. My status will not change in a day unless I win the lottery.

* * *

><p>Matthew blinked several times. His eyelids felt heavy and his mind felt fuzzy, and he found he struggled to think clearly. His languid eyes moved around slowly, taking in the room. It was dark and dreary and had no windows. It looked like some kind of cell. There was a massive metal door on one side that Matthew instinctively knew would be locked. A cell. Definitely. Now, why was he in a cell again? His breath hitched as he remembered. Yao. <em>China<em> had kidnapped him. Where _was_ he? He tried to sit up but promptly fell back down. He'd been drugged with something, and his body didn't want to respond properly. He sighed.

_Ivan!_ He thought with alarm. What had Yao done with Ivan? Was he in a similar cell somewhere? He tried his best to find a reason that Yao would want to kidnap him. What had he ever done to Yao? Then again, he was Alfred's brother, and Yao and Alfred weren't exactly on the best terms at the moment. Maybe Yao had snapped and decided to use him to bend Al to his will? It seemed so out of character, so reckless, for Yao to do. Yao wasn't a fool. Surely he must have known the implications of kidnapping another nation.

As if on cue, the heavy metal door creaked open, revealing a regally dressed Yao standing on the other side. Yao flicked up an eyebrow at Matthew's semi-awake form. He entered the room like a wisp of smoke, fluid and graceful in the air. He stopped in front of Matthew's bed.

"How are you feeling? I imagine the trip was rough."

Matthew grunted in response. He didn't feel like talking. He wasn't even sure he could. Yao smirked.

"Ah, I imagine the drugs still haven't gotten out of your system. My apologies for that. You started to wake at an inopportune time, so my hand was forced. Do not take it personally. I do not intend to harm you in any way. As soon as Alfred complies with my demands, I intend to release you, no strings attached."

As soon as Alfred complied to what? Apparently, Yao could read the question in his eyes.

"Ah, do you know where you are?"

Matthew shook his head slowly.

"Of course not. Well, I do not want to alarm you, but you are in my world now."

"…world?" He mumbled.

Yao nodded. "You know, I'm sure, of the parallel world your brother went to?"

Alarm shot through Matthew' veins. He was…in another _world_? So, wait…then this _wasn't_ their Yao? This was the parallel Yao? Who was a part of the USSR? _Of course…_he thought. He berated himself for not realizing it sooner. His own world's Yao would _not_ have done something like this. The Yao in front of him, however…Apparently, they were very different people. Matthew found himself experiencing a deep sense of fear that he hadn't before. It was one thing to be kidnapped by a fellow nation, but he was in a parallel dimension. How could he possibly escape? It wasn't as simple as getting out of the building and making an emergency phone call. He couldn't phone his home _world_.

"I can see you are scared now. Do not be. I will not harm you. I only wish for you to remain here until your brother fulfills my wishes."

What wishes? Matthew wanted to ask. But he found that his throat had constricted, and he was shocked to realize he was crying. Why was he crying? He didn't want to cry. Yao bent over and patted his hair gently.

"Calm yourself, Matthew. I will do you no harm. I promise."

Matthew wasn't very reassured, but nonetheless, Yao rose back up and swept his regal form back out of the room, the guards locking the door behind him. Left alone again, Matthew curled up on the bed and pressed his face into the pillow, his eyes burning. He didn't want to cry. But he couldn't control his own body. He was too weak, too weary, too tired. And so, he fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

><p>When Ivan awoke, he found his body heavy and sluggish. He immediately remembered Yao's betrayal. He'd been sedated with a tranquilizer dart, and he could feel the presence of additional drugs in his body. Yao wasn't taking any chances. He knew Ivan's strength, and he wasn't willing to tempt it. And for good reason. Ivan was beyond furious. He didn't know what had compelled Yao to do something this foolish, and personally, he didn't care. Yao had betrayed his trust, and if he had dared to hurt Matvey, Ivan was going to return the favor tenfold.<p>

The door to wherever he was being kept swung open on rusty hinges, and a nearly silent lithe form that Ivan recognized as Yao stood in the doorway. He was yelling in harsh Chinese at the guards around him, slipping into English every now and then.

"Fools! I told you to prepare it properly! Now what am I going to use for the body? Huh?" He pushed one of them furiously and swore in angry Chinese. "Where in the world am I going to get…?" He paused, slowly turning around to hone in on Ivan. "On second thought…your mistake may not have been so bad after all. I believe I might have a better idea. Go get Arthur and bring him to my room. We need to talk." The guards silently nodded and bowed, walking off down the hallway.

Yao finally entered his cell. Ivan didn't bother trying to move. His body wasn't up for it yet. He needed to plan his escape carefully. Which would involve patience. Granted, he would much rather just pummel the hell out of Yao's face, but since he was not America and thus, not rash and stupid and reckless, he would refrain. Yao hovered over him for several moments, surveying his drugged body. Then he smiled, catching Ivan's angry gaze.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Ivan, but you must understand why this is necessary. Please allow me to explain." Right, because Ivan had any other choice in the matter. Yao continued without hesitation. "First off, you must understand that I am not your Yao. I am the Yao from the parallel world that your America and Germany were sent to. Which is where you are currently are."

Ivan's eyes widened. He had been taken…where? To that place that America had described to him four years ago? That world where he was a ruthless monster who had hurt and killed countless nations? His stomach churned uneasily.

"Again, I apologize for kidnapping you. Unfortunately, you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. My original intention was just to take Canada."

"Why…?" He managed to mumble.

"Because I need America's compliance in order to reach my goal. And there are very few ways to get America to obey anyone. So I had to resort to some…unfortunate methods."

_Like hurting Matvey. _Ivan thought bitterly. Yao apparently saw the rage in his eyes.

"Canada is fine. I assure you of that. He is right down the hall resting. I promise. Perhaps I will let him come by later to prove it to you? Would that satiate your anger, Ivan?"

Ivan nodded slowly, lying. It would not make him less angry, but it would certainly relieve him of some of his fear.

Yao smiled again. "Good. I will arrange that as soon as he feels better. He is still suffering some of the effects from the drugs. Deeply sorry I had to resort to that, but I was sure it would have turned into a bloody struggle otherwise." He shrugged. "Anyway, as soon as America gives into my demands, I will release Canada."

Combined with Yao's words at the door, Ivan was immediately suspicious. "And me?" He growled out.

Yao's sly smile told him everything he needed to know. "Unfortunately, I have recently found myself requiring you to stay longer. Please do not blame me, however. My men made a crucial mistake, and I am not sure of any other way to remedy it. I assure you, however, that whatever I do to you will not cause you no harm."

Ivan was not reassured in the least.

* * *

><p>Alfred sat in a small café—newly built, like everything in this London—and sipped on an already cold cup of coffee. He'd spent the entire night searching for the others, only to come up with nothing. Now he was exhausted on top of being worried, and he knew he should just get a hotel room and rest, but he just <em>couldn't<em>. What if something had happened to Arthur and the others? What if they were scattered around the Earth? Or worse, what if they never made it at all? What if they were stuck somewhere between dimensions, trapped there forever? He'd spent the night with these thoughts clinging to his brain, and he couldn't make them stop recurring.

He looked up once more, staring tiredly out at the bleary London day.

Matt was walking down the sidewalk.

He tore out of his chair, sending it crashing to the floor, and sped out the door, not caring about the panic that had just erupted behind him. Matt turned a street corner, and Alfred almost fell over rushing after him.

"Matt!" He called out.

The young man stopped and turned around, surprise written on his face. "Al?" He said as Alfred slowed down and stopped in front of him, panting for air. "What are you doing here? I thought your flight wasn't scheduled to land until this afternoon."

Flight?

He smacked himself in the head, groaning. Of course. It was the _other_ Matt. He froze. Feelings from four years ago washed over him again, and he felt a blush rise to his cheeks. "Ah, well…you see…" What was he supposed to say? He didn't want to get this Matt involved. His own Matt had already been kidnapped. "Uh…"

Matt's phone rang. "Oh. Hold on." He dug it out his pocket and looked at the caller id, his brows suddenly furrowing in confusion. _Oh God,_ Alfred thought_, don't tell me._ He answered it. Matt's face went from mild confusion to utter horror in about two seconds. Alfred just stood very still, completely unsure of how to react. He'd blown it.

"I'm going to have you call you back later, Al, okay? I just ran into an old friend. Yes, I'm fine. It's fine. No, it's no one you know. Bye." He hung up and stared open-mouthed at Alfred, who swallowed nervously. "_What_ are you _doing_ here?" He asked, exasperated.

"I…" Did he lie? Did he tell the truth? What was he supposed to do? He couldn't think of anything to say that could have hidden the truth. So he was forced to explain. He spoke quickly, watching Matt's face as the fear sparked into his violet eyes and traveled down his entire body.

"Al…Oh God, I'm so sorry."

Alfred nodded. "Me too." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to get you involved—"

Matthew frowned. "Too bad. If Yao is up to this, then all the nations are involved. So deal with it. Come on, I'll take you back to my hotel." He numbly let Matt lead him along. He was _so tired_ and _confused_ and now he was with Matt and he was emotionally messed up and…He really needed to sleep. Thirty minutes and a cab ride later they pulled up in front of a fancy hotel, complete with conference rooms. Of course. They were having a world meeting. Just the same as Alfred's own world had been. Just in England instead of Canada.

Matt swiped his card in the door and led Alfred to his bed. "You look exhausted. Rest." Alfred didn't want to listen. He wanted to be stubborn about it. But Matt's voice soothed him, and he let the man remove his shoes and jacket and cover him with a blanket. A few minutes later he was out like a light, and Matthew sat down in a nearby chair and watched him.

Matthew had never expected to see this Alfred again. He'd thought the bridge between their worlds had been closed forever. He had never imagined that Italy was hiding there. The world had been searching itself twice over for the missing Italy, and no one had managed to find him. Matt now knew they hadn't even been searching the right universe. But now…apparently, Italy was back, along with the _other_ Italy, the _other _Arthur, and the _other _Germany. Arthur.

He took out his cell phone and dialed Arthur's number. He hadn't heard from Arthur since a brief phone call the week before. He'd hoped to have more time to talk him during the meeting week. Now it seemed there would be no time to talk at all. At least, not about the things that Matthew wanted to talk about. The phone rang and rang and rang, and eventually, it went to voice mail. That was strange. Arthur usually had his phone on him at all times.

He took another looked at Al, who was dead asleep. He picked up a piece of hotel-complimentary stationary and scribbled a note on it. If Arthur wasn't answering, then Matthew would just have to head over to his house. It was probably best to tell him about the situation in person anyway. Twenty minutes later, he hopped off a bus and started walking his way the rest of the few blocks to Arthur's house. Before he even turned the corner that led to Arthur's street, he knew something was wrong.

There was a man in a black suit standing across the street, apparently surveying the area. Matthew spotted several more of them in strategic locations. Government agents? What were they doing here? The muscles in his stomach clenched. He whipped around the corner to run to Arthur's house, only to find its charred remains staring him in the face.

Arthur's new home.

Gone.

And if his home was gone, then where was he?

His phone rang again, and he picked up frantically, almost dropping it. "Al?"

"Yeah? What's up? I was just calling to let you know I'm going to be a few minutes late. You okay? You sound—"

"No, I'm not okay!" He quickly explained the entire situation, feeling the tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. He made sure to keep moving, however. The last thing he wanted was British government agents seeing him as a suspicious person. After he finished, breathless, he listened to Alfred's silence anxiously. He was almost about to ask if Al was even still there, but then he finally started talking.

"Do exactly what I say, Matt. Go back to the hotel. Lock the door. Let no one in until I get there."

"But Al—"

"Do it, Matt! If Yao kidnapped the other Matt and Russia, then he's probably has Arthur too. And if has all of them, then he can most certainly get you. So go back to the hotel and…"

Matthew didn't hear what else his brother had to say. His cell phone was knocked out of his hand by a violent blow, and he turned to see a black-clad assailant behind him. His eyes trailed back down the road to where the government agents had been. They were gone. And Matthew was sure it had not been of their own accord. He tried to make a run for it, swiping his phone off the ground and taking off. But he only made it a few feet before another man jumped over the wall that lined the sidewalk and landed right on top of him. He went down hard, the blow knocking the wind out of his lungs.

He could hear Alfred's panicked voice still ringing loudly from his phone, but he couldn't concentrate. His vision swam, and he realized he'd hit his head when he'd fallen. "Ah…" The man pulled out a cloth, and Matthew knew what was coming next. He closed in eyes, preparing to be dragged away and imprisoned. But the next moment, the weight on top of him was gone, and he was hauled into someone's arms. His eyes snapped open to reveal Alfred. "Al…"

"Sh. Keep quiet. You're hurt." He was running full speed down the street, and Matthew realized he had both their bags on his back. "Those guys were hanging around outside around the hotel too. I figure they work for Yao. He's obviously not acting alone. Knew he had to have henchmen of some kind. Anyway, they were staring up at the window to your room, and then they took off after getting some kind of call. Good thing I decided to follow, huh?"

Matthew nodded silently. Alfred looked fatigued, but he was still pushing himself. Matthew felt guilty. After what he'd been through, he should've better than this. He had been a true fighter during the war, and now he'd let his guard down, let himself become weak again. _Damn it…God damn it all_…

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Aw...so angsty all around. Just the tip of the ice berg, and the Titanic has yet to to hit it.

**Next Chapter: **Parallel Alfred, on a plane to London, worries about Matthew, who he thinks has been taken by Yao. Meanwhile, Arthur awakens in a rather odd place.


	7. The Pendulum's Swing II

**Dro: **I love this chapter. It sets up so much for the rest of the story. Take the hints, guys. They are there! The usual request: read and **review!** And by the way, the Q&A thread for this universe are up in my forum. Just head to my profile for the link.

**Chapter Summary: **Parallel! Alfred worries about his Matthew. Meanwhile, Arthur wakes up in a strange place.

**Warnings: **None.

**Disclaimer: **Nope. No. And every negation of yes I can think of. I still do not own APH.

* * *

><p>Alfred stared at his broken phone, and then to the dent in the side of the plane where his formerly intact phone had made contact earlier. He swallowed, taking in sharp breaths. They had Matt. They had to have gotten him. He fidgeted, staring out the window. He was still several hours from London. What the hell was he going to do? By the time he got there, Matt would be long gone. How was he going to find his brother? First Arthur, now Matt? He put his face in his hands, trying to ward off tears. This couldn't be happening. Not after four years. Four years since they'd defeated Russia…and now everything had fallen apart in a matter of hours. No, days. Because Matt had said Arthur's house had already been burned down for a while. Which meant they'd had Arthur for a while now. A pang of guilt hit his chest. He should've known something was wrong when Arthur hadn't answered his calls.<p>

But he had just passed it off as nothing. What kind of fool was he? To think that just because they'd defeated Russia meant this was over? He was no smarter than he'd been before the war apparently. _God, I can't believe this._ What if he was too late? What if the other him was forced to comply with Yao and ended up dead? Or what if something went wrong and they killed Matt—both of them—and Arthur? How could he possibly live with himself if he let that happen?

He leaned back in his seat, stifling dry sobs. He had to keep himself together. He couldn't fall apart here. He needed to think of a plan. He stared up at the dull white ceiling of the plane and sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flight attendants cowering behind their curtain. He'd scared the hell out of them earlier when he'd destroyed his phone. He felt guilty for it, but he couldn't bring himself to remedy the situation. His mind was too consumed with the possible outcomes of _this_ situation. There were so many lives at stake already. And not only had so many people been kidnapped by Yao, but somewhere out there was the other Arthur, both Italies, and the other Germany. He let his arm hang over his eyes. This was almost as bad as the actual war with Russia. And if he didn't handle this probably, it could very well end up worse.

Arthur. The name stuck in his mind. Arthur's house had been burned down. And he'd just gotten used to it. Alfred's heart ached. Arthur was out there somewhere, left to his own devices in Yao's…prison or dungeon or wherever the hell he was keeping these people. He could very well be hurt. Yao could be torturing him. And that was another question. _What_ did Yao want? What was the purpose of kidnapping Arthur and then traveling through the dimensions to kidnap the other Matthew and Russia? Obviously, as Matthew said, Yao wanted the other America as some sort of sacrifice, but for what? What was he planning?

"…Sir?"

He froze at the frightened female voice. "Yes?"

"Um, we were wondering if you check something for us."

He peaked out from under his arm. "What?"

She swallowed nervously. "Well, about an hour ago, we heard a crash in the food storage closet. We thought maybe some trays had fallen over, but when we went to open the door, we found it jammed. One of the racks has fallen over. Do you think you could help us, sir? I'm terribly sorry if I'm being a bother."

Alfred almost made a cruel retort, then he came to his senses and realized that these poor women hadn't done anything to him, and he really needed to keep his anger in check. He nodded slowly and rose to his feet, ignoring the bitter taste in his mouth. "Show me the way." They took him back through the curtain and pointed to a closed door. He nodded in understanding and walked up to it. Another flight attended fluttered past the curtain and whispered to the others.

"We'll be right back, sir." The same woman said, trying to sound calm.

"Yeah, okay." He mumbled in return as they all filed out. He pulled the door's handle and tried to open it, but it was obvious there was something jammed on the other side's handle, something that wouldn't let it open. Through the small gap that the door would give, he could see a fallen rack shining through. _Stuck on the handle_. He scoffed. Fixing this would probably mean would pulling the door right off its hinges, but if that's what they wanted….

He stiffened as he heard something moving behind the door. Had another attendant been in there? Was she hurt? He watched as the rack moved out of way, and the pressure against the door suddenly lessened._ Uh…_ Someone pushed on the door, and Alfred pulled it open the rest of the way.

To reveal Arthur standing on the other side.

* * *

><p>Arthur groaned his way back into consciousness. His head throbbed continuously, and he felt like he'd been hit by a brick. Something wet was running down his face, but he couldn't see it due to the lack of light in the room. He was also aware of something heavy laying on top of him. He reached up and touched it, trying to figure out what exactly it was. It appeared to be some kind of metal rack, off of which several trays of what Arthur guessed was food had fallen. He groaned. Great. Is this what always happened when you traveled through dimensions?<p>

Suddenly, an alarm went off his head. He remembered their Feliciano's interruption at the last second. He was adept enough at magic to know that if a spell meant for four was used for five, it could have some hefty consequences. If he was here—wherever here was—then where was everyone else? They could have all been separated. They could be scattered all over the world. His pulse picked up. They could have been dropped in the middle of the ocean or in _space_ or in the distant _past_, for all he knew. He prayed everyone else was safe, and he prayed harder—and knowingly in vain—that they were all nearby.

The door to the small room opened slightly, but the metal handle was caught on the bars of the rack, and it wouldn't budge any further. Arthur could only hope the person behind that door was willing to help him. He really didn't need to be arrested as a thief or something. He didn't have time for such nonsense. He sat up, pushing the heavy rack off of his now bruised body. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he realized the liquid on his head was blood from a cut near his hairline. Wonderful. He sat the rack back up properly, hesitating slightly before pushing open the door.

Alfred stood on the other side.

They stared at each other silently for several seconds, Arthur more relieved than he'd been since Alfred appeared back in his house after their last adventure. Alfred seemed to share his sentiments. One moment, he was just standing there wide-eyed at the smaller man in front of him, then he pulled Arthur roughly forward by the arm into a heated kiss. Arthur's heart skipped a beat, his pulse instantly accelerating. He kissed Alfred back with everything he had. He found himself up against the wall, their tongues battling for dominance. He instinctively wrapped his legs around Alfred's waist and pulled him closer. Alfred kissed him fiercely, as if he thought Arthur was liable to vanish at a moment's notice. Arthur could say he honestly felt the same way.

It over a minute into their impromptu make out session when they both seemed to realized something wasn't quite right. Alfred was rougher than usual, and while Arthur was nearly willing to chalk that up to the situation, he felt like something was wrong here. As if on cue, Alfred pulled back, face flushed, lips swollen. His blue eyes were wide again, as if he'd realized something that Arthur hadn't.

"You…" He blushed so hard he was almost purple. "You're not my Arthur, are you?"

And then it all clicked into place. Arthur was sure his face color matched Alfred's. The _other_ Alfred's. Oh, how stupid could he have been! He'd seen Alfred and immediately assumed it was _his_ Alfred, knowing full well there were two of them in this world. "Ah…" He really couldn't think of anything to say. He'd just passionately made out with the _wrong_ Alfred. He had the oddest feeling this moment was going to come back to haunt him. He untangled his legs from around Alfred's waist and coughed. "I…uh…I'm sorry."

"Uh…no. Don't be." He seemed to be at an equal loss. "My fault. I should've known it wasn't my Arthur. That was stupid of me." He looked sheepish. So much like Arthur's own Alfred. But there was _something_ different about this one. He had an air of maturity and wisdom that the other Alfred lacked. And Arthur felt pity when he realized it had probably come about from this America's destruction at the hands of Soviet Russia.

"Sir, did you—Oh my!" An attendant yelped as she saw Arthur standing there. There were more of them behind her, all equally bewildered. Alfred's eyes darted back and forth.

"Ah, miss, could you get a first aid kit? My friend has a cut on his head."

She looked immensely confused, but she backed away and headed toward a closed compartment. The other women stood there mystified. A few minutes later, Arthur was seated next to Alfred. He now knew exactly where he'd ended up. On a private US jet heading for London. How the hell that happened would always be a mystery to him. The odds of him ending up on the other Alfred's plane…He shook his head, then winced as Alfred dabbed the cut on hit forehand with alcohol. They said nothing to one another as Alfred patched up Arthur's wound, and then they just sat there awkwardly. What were they supposed to say now?

They were both mortified that they'd made out with the parallel version of their lovers, and they both hoped neither would ever mention the incident again. Finally, Alfred broke the silence. "I should probably fill you in on the situation."

"Huh? You know about Yao?"

Alfred nodded. He repeated what Matthew had told him, including his suspicions that his own brother was also in Yao's clutches now. Arthur chewed thoughtfully on his lip. It seemed that whatever Yao wanted, he needed the other Arthur's help. Yao had gone to some extreme measure here, and he was certainly tempting fate by putting so many powerful nations at risk. This situation just kept getting worse and worse. Arthur was worried about his own Alfred now. Alfred was all alone in London with Yao's henchmen prowling around. He hoped they got there in time. If Alfred was captured...

Both men were stiff and nervous until the plane touched down. Then they were off, heading immediately for the conference hotel. Arthur stayed on the lookout for anyone who remotely looked like they could be working for Yao, but there were too many people to tell. They entered through the back door of the hotel, going through the kitchen of the hotel's restaurant, hoping to avoid being noticed. Granted, several other nations were probably already milling about the hotel, so the odds of them going completely unnoticed were slim. They headed up to Matthew's assigned hotel room, finding it locked.

"Stand back." Alfred ordered.

Arthur knew that tone, and he backed dup several feet.

Alfred kicked the door right off its hinges, and it landed in the middle of the very empty room. Arthur felt his heart sink. His Alfred was no longer here. He slowly entered the room, looking for any sign Alfred could have left just in case. It didn't take him long to find it. He opened the closet door to reveal a note taped to the inside of the door. A note written in code. A code he and Alfred had created decades ago, during the second World War. His throat tightened when he read it.

"Paris…" He said breathily. "He's gone to Paris."

Alfred's eyes widened. "Isn't that where he's supposed to give himself up to Yao?"

Arthur could only nod. Alfred wouldn't do it. He'd promised Arthur he wouldn't do it. But if Alfred found himself without an alternative…Arthur knew he would break that promise in order to save his brother. "We have to go to Paris. Now. We have to find him."

"Yeah. I know." Alfred picked up his bag. "Let's go."

Arthur smiled wearily. This Alfred wasn't so different from his own. Still so heroic. Still so daring. They were back out of hotel in a matter of minutes and heading toward the airport. As far as Arthur could tell, no one was following them, which he took as a good sign. They were on the plane within the hour, Alfred calling in an emergency situation with the crew. Granted, he didn't tell them _what_ the emergency was_. _Which was, of course, a smart idea. They didn't need to get humans needlessly killed for this.

Arthur sat straight-backed in his chair the entire flight. He didn't want to admit it out loud, but he was terrified for Alfred's safety. With every second that ticked by, he became more and more sure Alfred had already given himself up to Yao, and that he was on his way to a certain death. His breathing became uneven, and all he could picture was Alfred's sad and worried face the moments before the spell that brought them here had all gone wrong. He couldn't imagine never seeing Alfred again. How could he live without Alfred?

A hand settled on top of his own. He opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them, not realizing he had started to cry, and gazed down at the familiar hand on top of his. The other Alfred was still staring out the window, but Arthur could plainly see the worry on his face. He suddenly felt selfish. He was letting himself break down in front of this Alfred, who was missing his own Arthur and his brother as well. He had just as many problems as Arthur did. Arthur found himself leaning over and resting his head against Alfred's shoulder. Alfred stiffened for a brief moment, then relaxed into it, a small smile of relief gracing his face. Arthur swore to himself he'd keep it together from now on. If this Alfred would support him, he would support this Alfred in return.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>This chapter and the next chapter pretty much set up a good portion of the rest of the story.

**Next Chapter: **Alfred and Matt try to figure out what to do. Matt makes a phone call that relieves his brother's fear for him. After the phone call, Matt's fears come back with a vengeance, and he fails to prevent a desperate Alfred from acting rashly.


	8. The Pendulum's Swing III

**Dro: **Hey, lazies! Don't forget to **review** this time, please! I was quite perturbed to see such a sharp drop off in reviews over a single chapter. Tsk! Tsk! Don't be getting that lazy on me, especially around exam time while I'm writing at my own risk. Anyway, seriously, read and **review**.

**Chapter Summary: **Matt makes a phone call. Alfred makes a rash decision. Matt fails to stop him.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro, unfortunately, still does not own APH.

* * *

><p>Matthew stretched as he awoke, grunting at the soreness in his muscles. He groaned as he remembered why they were so sore. He lightly touched the stitches on the back of his head. At least they hadn't had to shave his hair off to put them in. He sat up, his body resisting movement, and stared out the window. Paris looked back at him through the window. Matthew had always loved Paris. He often came here whenever he needed a break from life, getting lost among the crowds and splurging on the expensive restaurants. Now he was here for a very different reason, and he was seeing a very different Paris. The city had nearly been burned to the ground at one point, and the reconstruction was slow-going. Only a small portion of what had been the entire city had been rebuilt. The only thing that seemed to be any marker that it <em>had<em> been Paris was the Eiffel Tower, still standing unscathed in the distance.

The Eiffel Tower. Where Alfred was supposed to give himself over to Yao. They didn't have much time left to think of a solution. And Matthew knew very well that if it came down to the wire, Alfred would give himself over to protect his own brother. Matthew was determined not to let that happen. As if on cue, Alfred burst back into the room with breakfast. He was deceptively happy in demeanor, and Matthew could see right through the act. He'd seen his Alfred try to pull this very trick many times in the past. He slipped out of bed and looked around for his suitcase.

While his back was turned to Alfred, he let himself contemplate just what their feelings were for one another. Of course, neither of them had actually spoken about their relationship _before_, not while Alfred was now with his own Arthur. Matthew knew better than that. He didn't want to hurt Alfred, and he certainly didn't want to damage the man's relationship with Arthur. Matthew may have felt some resentment toward the British man, but he still loved him and he would never purposefully ruin his relationship with Alfred. Purposefully. Because that certainly didn't mean that something couldn't happen that tore the two apart and just happened to be partially his fault.

It was hard to be around this Alfred. As the seconds ticked by, Matthew was sure he could feel the increasing tension in the room. He sat down to eat at the table in the corner with Alfred, both men refusing to look one another in the face. Alfred seemed to have finally gotten some rest, and though he still looked moderately tired, the overwhelming fatigue that had been hanging over his head seemed to have dissipated. It was a silent, awkward breakfast. Alfred didn't seem to know what to say. Matthew couldn't even think clearly. He almost wished that the action would pick back up, as dangerous as that was. He didn't want to be faced with the relationship he could never rekindle or the man he loved more than anything that he just couldn't have.

"So, what's our plan?" Alfred stared out the window.

Matthew quietly chewed his food, trying to appear contemplative. "I…I think we should wait for my Alfred. He was heading to London last time I checked. You said you left a message, right?" He tried to remembered. The past twenty-four hours were blurry in his head.

Alfred nodded solemnly. "Yeah, though I'm not sure if he can figure it out or not. I wrote it in a code that Arthur and I created a while ago. I'm hoping the two pairs of us are similar enough that we have that in common. It was a risk, but it would've been a bigger risk if I had left it to be easily deciphered by Yao's guys."

Matthew silently agreed, feeling a pang of jealousy. He tried to suppress it. "Which means either Alfred is heading over here right now, or he's completely lost and confused."

"Yeah. Pretty much. We might be on our own here." He ran a hand through his hair. "If only I had more time. But the deadline is fast approaching, and I don't think we're going to be able to get the entire group together in time, much less create a decent plan."

"Well, you're certainly not giving yourself up, Alfred."

Alfred's eyes finally met his own. "If that's the only way to save my brother, then I'll do it in a heart beat. And you won't stop me." The burning determined fire in his blue irises spoke volumes more than his assurance.

Matthew shook his head. "How can I possibly let you do that, Alfred? Especially knowing what will happen to you."

"Well, that's just it. We _don't_ know. I have no clue what Yao is planning. All I know is he wants me for a 'ritual' of some kind. That could be anything."

"True." Matthew picked at the remains of his food. "But in all likelihood, it's something that will cost you your life, or else Yao wouldn't have gone to such extremes. I think we can safely say that if you give yourself up, you won't be coming back."

"I know that." He leaned back in chair, eyes fixed on the window. Matthew could guess exactly what he was looking at.

"Please don't get any rash ideas, Alfred."

Alfred didn't respond.

"At least let me try to get in touch with my Alfred, first. Did you pick up my mobile?"

Alfred shook his head. "Sorry, there wasn't time."

"Great." He frowned. "I can try the hotel phone though."

"I don't know if that's a good idea. Yao's men might be tracking the other me. Or they could have followed us here. I don't want to risk our conversations being listened to."

"Well, I'm certainly going to call him. He probably thinks I'm dead."

Alfred eyed him, annoyed. "Fine. Go ahead. Just listen for any signs of the line being tapped."

"I know. You're not the only one with experience in that field, Alfred."

"Don't I know it?" Alfred smiled wryly.

Matthew rose from the table and headed out the door, buttoning up his shirt along the way. When he got downstairs and managed to wrangle the phone away from a stingy employee, he tucked himself into a corner of the lobby and dialed Alfred's number, praying his brother would pick up. He did.

"Hello?" Alfred's voice was cold and wary.

"Al, it's me."

"Matt?" He sounded panicked. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Al. Calm down. I'm in Paris with the other you."

"Oh, thank God, Matt. I seriously thought Yao had you."

"Where are you now?"

"About to land. We're in France. Where are you? What hotel?"

Matthew found something odd about one of those remarks. "Wait, what do you mean 'we'?"

He was silently for several seconds. "I have the other Arthur with me."

"Come again?"

"Yeah, he appeared on my jet, believe it or not. You should probably go tell the other me that his Arthur is okay."

"Yeah, I'll do that." He felt a weight lift from his shoulders. This would tremendously relieve Alfred, and maybe the man would relax enough to get the notion of sacrificing himself out of his head. At least for the next day. When both Alfreds, the other Arthur, and himself were together, they could come up with a proper plan.

"Are you sure you're all right, Matt?"

"I'm fine, Al. A few scrapes and bruises. Nothing major." He decided it would be best not to mention the stitches. "Hopefully, we've managed to evade Yao's men. At least for now. They're probably crawling all over Paris, waiting for Alfred—the other one—to appear."

"Yeah, well, don't let him. We'll think of a plan."

"I know we will."

"Just…just stay safe, Matt. We'll be there soon."

"Okay." He told them the name of the hotel. "We up on the second floor. Room 212."

"Got it. See you soon, Matt."

"You too."

"…Bye." Alfred sounded pained.

"It's okay, Al. I'm okay. Everything's going to be okay. We'll be waiting for you right in the room."

Alfred sighed into the received. "I know, Matt. I just…I just feel like it's happening all over again. I fought so hard to end the fucking war, and now everything's crumbling around me again."

"This won't be like last time, Al. I promise."

"I can only hope."

"Bye, Al."

"Bye, Matt."

He pushed the end call button and sighed to himself, looking back up into the lobby to find the stingy employee glaring at him again, motioning for him to return the phone. He put it back on the receiver slightly too hard and headed back up the stairs. He stomped back down the hallway, simultaneously relieved and frustrated. When he made it to the room, he found the door hanging slightly open. He paused. Had he left it that way? He could have sworn he closed it. Maybe Alfred had opened it?

His nerves got the best of him before he could finish rationalizing, and he pushed open the door violently, causing it to slam into the wall. Alfred wasn't in the room. But a letter was. The white paper was crumpled, laying on the floor as if it had been tossed carelessly there. Matthew crouched down and picked it up, his pulse accelerating with each word.

_I've changed my ultimatum. _

_You have until Noon today. _

_- Wang Yao_

Matthew's eyes snapped to the clock. It was 11:30. "No…No. No. No." How had they gotten past him? He'd been standing in the lobby the entire time. And yet…he'd never seen anyone remotely suspicious pass by him. So how had they gotten in? How had they…He had to go. He had to go now. He _had_ to stop Alfred. _Damn it. Damn everything._

He was in a cab before a full minute had even passed by. He told the man to hurry, that it was an emergency, but the traffic was miserable, and Matthew was sure he would never make it in time. And if he made it to the Tower too late…He didn't even want to think about it. He couldn't lose track of Alfred. They'd never find him again. Yao's surrender location was the only lead they had to track Yao. If Alfred left with Yao's men, they would lose Yao's trail almost immediately. And then what? Without any idea of where Yao was based, they'd be helpless to stop him from…from killing Alfred.

By the time he was out of the cab, throwing the man money like he was wild and insane, it was already five minutes from twelve. He was running out of time. _Alfred, please…please stall. Please. Don't let them take you. Whatever you do. I can't just let you…I can't just let them…_

_Please, Alfred. I love you._

* * *

><p>Alfred stood underneath the massive metal structure, staring straight up. He could feel Yao's henchmen staring at him, but he didn't see the need in going to them. They would come to him, he was sure, when the time was right. When he'd seen the letter that had been unceremoniously slipped under the door, he'd nearly had a heart attack. Any inkling he had of forming a plan had been thrown out the window, and he'd been forced to make a split second decision. He no longer had any sort of choice. It was surrender now or let his Matt die.<p>

The men walked closer to him, and he turned to face them as they stopped a few feet away. They were dressed in black business suits, staring at him with deceptive smiles. "Mr. America," one of them said, "we are here to escort to Lord Yao." Alfred nodded silently. The two men ushered him along, heading toward the nearest street, where Alfred assumed there was a vehicle waiting. Just as they neared a sleek, black car, a loud shout sounded off behind him.

Alfred whipped around to see Matt running toward them, frantic and terrified. One of the men pulled out a pistol, and Alfred knocked it out of his hand. "I'll deal with him. Don't you even fucking think of hurting him." He warned. The men backed off. Alfred walked toward the rushing Matt and caught him in a rough embrace.

"Alfred, you can't!" Matthew whispered in his ear, panicked.

"I have to, Matt. My Mattie is at stake, and I can't let anything happen to him. I don't have a choice. You just need to stay here, okay? And explain to…to Arthur and the other me when they get here." He spoke into Matt's shoulder.

"Explain what? That I let you give yourself up? That I let you walk into a death trap?"

"You didn't let me do anything, Matt. I'm doing this with or without your approval. Make sure they know that."

"Al, I can't let you go." He clung tighter. "Let me come with you."

"No. I can't do that, Matt. You need to stay here and be safe." He forced Matthew out of the hug and cupped the boy's cheeks. They were flushed from exhaustion. His eyes were wet with unshed tears. "For me, Matt. Please, do it for me." Alfred knew he would regret what he was about to do, but he needed to pacify Matt before he got himself hurt. He couldn't have the suffering of two Matts on his shoulders. He just couldn't. He pulled Matt forward and pressed their lips together. Matt went completely rigid for several seconds, but then it was like a damn broke, and he flung himself on Alfred, deepening the kiss. Alfred's arms encircled Matt's waist and pulled the younger man against him.

This was wrong, and they both knew it. But neither of them stopped. Alfred kissed him with all the pent up passion he'd been suppressing for the last few years, grazing Matt's tongue with his own. Then it was over. Alfred leaned back in to press a quick peck against Matt's now flushed lips, and then he turned away without another word. Matt stood there motionlessly, his hand now covering his mouth, his eyes now shedding their tears. But he didn't say anything else, didn't try to stop Alfred anymore. That kiss had said everything the two of them could possibly say to one another.

One of the men opened the door of the black car, and Alfred silently slipped inside. Yao sat on the other side, legs crossed, posture perfect. He had an amused smile on his face. Alfred said nothing to him at first, and he didn't dare look back out the window, where he knew Matthew was about to break down. That had hurt in a thousand ways. Not only had he admitted to himself what he'd been trying to deny for years—that he still did love this Matt—but he had also _used_ their attachment against Matt in order to manipulate his actions. He knew he would regret that for the rest of the life. However, if Yao had his way, that might not have been much longer.

The moment they started to drive away, reality seemed to slam back into him full force. Yao finally started talking. "I'm glad you decided to comply, Alfred. I truly didn't want to hurt your brother. You've made things a lot easier on everyone." He paused, then grinned. "Well, maybe not _everyone_. I had heard rumors of your affair with my world's Matthew, but I didn't know they were true to this extent. Tell me—or not, I'm just curious—does this affair extend to your own Matthew?"

Alfred bristled like a cat. "No. It doesn't." He pushed away the nagging image of himself kissing his brother in the bathroom after he'd returned home.

"I see." Yao said slyly. Alfred knew Yao had just seen right through him, and he'd never wanted to punch the man square in the jaw more than he did now. But his thoughts were derailed when Yao suddenly changed the subject. "Well then, I'm sure you're very curious to know why I need you here."

And then Yao told him everything.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>And everything just falls apart. Along with the plot thickening, of course.

**Next Chapter: **The two Italies and Germany find themselves in a German town. Parallel! Italy and Germany discuss their plan of action. Meanwhile, Alfred finds himself in Yao's base, preparing himself for his inevitable end. A tearful reunion with his brother doesn't help. Also, someone we haven't seen for a while comes back into the picture.


	9. The Gauntlet is Thrown

**Dro: **Hey, look, it's Germany and Italy! About time, eh? Anyway, please do read and **review, **and I will be quite thankful! And oh, if I get behind on updates next week, it's because I have exams Mon-Wed, so...yeah. Expect some delays.

**Chapter Summary: **Germany and Parallel! Italy discuss their plan of action. Italy broods. America finds himself torn. A certain someone comes back into play.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **I'm sure we all know by this point that Dro does not own APH.

* * *

><p>He sat cross-legged in the chair next to the window. Feliciano's eyes never left him for more than a second. Occasionally, they would end up in staring contests, well, <em>glaring<em> contests. Ludwig had been shocked at Feliciano's hostility toward his other self. It was unnatural for his own Italy to act this way. He couldn't help but wonder why the man was reacting like this. Was it jealousy? It seemed like the most logical reason, but Ludwig didn't understand why Feliciano would think that he would cheat on him with the parallel Italy. He would admit—to himself and to no one else—that he _did_ have feelings for the other Feliciano, but he would _never_ leave his own Feliciano. He just wouldn't. It was unthinkable.

And yet, here they were, sitting in a shoddy hotel room filled with unnecessary tension. Feliciano was constantly glaring at his alter self, who was silently watching the street below through the dirty window. The silence was deafening. Reaching his breaking point, Ludwig rose to his feet and said he was going downstairs for some food. He left without another word. He hated the idea of leaving the two of them alone with such animosity between them, but he had to get _away_. He felt like the tension was slowly crushing him. He sighed as he reached the cramped lobby of the small hotel. He had a headache coming on.

It was only yesterday that the three of them had woken up together in a nearby park. _Of course,_ they'd landed somewhere in Germany. Or, what used to be Germany. It was still called Germany, but there was still no Germany nation, apparently, according to Feliciano, who seemed to be able to hack into just about anything. He had jacked a computer from some innocent civilian and used it to check the status of all the nations. It seemed that this world's Prussia was currently looking after Germany.

As Ludwig strode out into the cool afternoon, he silently cursed all magic. This plan had quickly gone from stable to disastrous. He knew that the other Feliciano blamed his Feliciano, and he couldn't deny the truth of that statement, but he also couldn't bring himself to antagonize his own Feliciano. He'd asked Feliciano several times why he'd done it, only to receive a teary pout as a response. Ludwig's best guess was that Feliciano didn't want him to leave him for another extended period, so he'd decided the solution was to come along himself.

"Oh, Feliciano. Why do you do this to me?" He groaned softly.

"I'd like to think he's just that stupid."

Ludwig jumped, whipping around to face the other Feliciano, who had—somehow, completely silently—strode up behind him. Ludwig waited for him to catch up and continued walking. "And Feliciano is…"

"Staring out the window in awe, last time I saw him."

"Uh…"

"I jumped out the window."

"Oh." Of course he did. "…Why?"

"I wanted to speak with you in private. We haven't exactly had much time alone. It would be nice to have a conversation with you without those ignorant brown eyes boring holes into me."

Ludwig frowned. "He's not _stupid_."

"To me, he is an insult. Not even in my time before Ivan was I as weak and ignorant as him."

"Don't antagonize him. He's the kindest person I have ever met, and I would gladly have him stay the way he is forever."

Feliciano rolled his eyes. "I have no problem with his level of charity, Ludwig. My problem is that he will be useless here. He is a burden we do not need. We have already been separated from the others, automatically putting the entire operation at risk. And it is _his_ fault. On top of that, we are liable to be attacked at any time. I do believe I am correct in surmising that he is useless in combat?"

"Uh…" Well, what was he supposed to say to that? His own Feliciano wasn't exactly _skilled_ at fighting.

"As I thought. Then there is, of course, the problem of reuniting with the rest of our team. The most obvious plan would be to head to Paris, since that is a common point we all wish to get to. We should leave today." He flicked his knowing brown gaze at Ludwig. "Alone."

Ludwig stopped. "We're not _leaving_ him here."

"You would put him at risk?"

Ludwig faltered. "I…"

"You know the closer we get to the Paris, the more danger we'll be in. Yao will no doubt quickly figure out that Alfred did not come alone. And it will put everyone who came with him danger, including your Feliciano. I am assuring you that we will end up in battle situations, and if your Italy is there, then he will be a liability, risking not only himself but others who seek to protect him. The most practical move would be to leave him somewhere safe, like here for instance."

Ludwig didn't want to admit that this Feliciano was right, but he was. He wouldn't willingly put Feliciano in danger, and he knew that if they took him along with them to Paris, that would be exactly what he was doing. So the only viable option was to leave him behind somewhere. He knew Feliciano would be angry with him, but what choice did he have? His Feliciano was not _this_ Feliciano. His Feliciano did not have highly honed fighting skills. His Feliciano was not totally calm and composed in the face of death. His Feliciano would not survive a fierce battle. And therefore, his Feliciano would have to stay behind. Because Ludwig would _never_ send his Feliciano knowingly to his death.

It was a conundrum. If he left his Feliciano here, Feliciano would be livid. But if he took Feliciano along, Feliciano would get hurt or worse. So Ludwig would _have_ to go with the lesser of two evils. He would much rather have Feliciano angry at him—hell, _hate _him—than to willingly let Feliciano get hurt. He didn't care about how Feliciano felt about him afterward, as long as he was safe.

"Fine. We'll leave him here." He said coldly.

Feliciano nodded. "Now, how to get him to understand."

"He won't. He'll be…" Could he describe Feliciano as _furious_? Feliciano got upset, but Ludwig didn't think he had ever seen rage in Feliciano's expressions. Granted, he had also never seen _loathing_ either, but that was what Feliciano seemed to exhibit whenever he was around his parallel self.

"Fine, then we'll just leave him."

"What?"

"Tonight. Let's just pack up and leave while he's asleep. We'll just leave a note."

"That won't be any better."

"Emotionally? No. But if we tell him and he rejects the idea, then he'll try to follow us."

"And if we just leave him, he'll try to find us. He'll end up getting in trouble."

"Not if we make a specific call."

"Huh? To who?"

* * *

><p>They descended down the stairwell into a dimly lit corridor. They hadn't bothered cuffing him or tying him up. They knew he was too strong for that. And they he knew he wouldn't try anything because Matt was at risk. So he walked right alongside Yao, silent and brooding. What Yao was planning to do was heinous and disgusting. How could Yao possibly think this was a good idea? How could Yao honestly believe this would help anyone? Of course, it would help one person, and that was Yao himself. Yao would regain his favor, and as the world once again plunged into turmoil and devastation, Yao would benefit.<p>

_Yao_ was disgusting.

Alfred wasn't sure what was more disturbing, what Yao was going to use him for, or what was Yao was going to use _Ivan_ for. Alfred would probably never like his own Ivan beyond the point of minimal toleration, but _no one_ deserved what Yao was going to do to him. Alfred had almost bailed from the car when Yao had started describing that to him, but he'd forced himself to stay still, knowing that if he ditched Yao, then he would _kill_ Matt, and he couldn't live with himself if he let that happen. But he also wasn't sure he could live with himself if let _that _happen to Ivan.

But he didn't see any way out. If he attempted to retaliate, Matt was dead. If he did nothing, then Ivan…He shook his head. Yao seemed to notice his distress.

"Come now, Alfred. Don't stress yourself out. You're saving your brother here, remember?"

"And sentencing Ivan to a fate worse than death."

Yao smiled slyly. "If you say so. But really, if that's what's bothering you, you should just clear your head. What will happen to him will not even hurt, as far as I know. You, on the other hand…"

Alfred really didn't give a shit what happened to himself. Yao had described to him in detail just how he was going _sacrifice_ him. Every cut. Every stab. And Alfred couldn't care less. It was his loved ones he cared about. "Let's just get this over with." He spat.

Yao chuckled. "Don't be too eager now. Surely you want to see Canada first?'

Alfred froze mid-step. No, he most certainly didn't want to see Mattie. At all. Seeing Matt would…not be good. He knew his brother would try to talk him out of this. And he would ask questions. Questions about Ivan. Questions that Alfred couldn't possibly let himself answer with a clear conscious. By saving Matt, he wasn't just hurting himself. He was hurting Ivan too. And there was no justification for that. For some strange reason, he pictured this world's Feliciano berating him for being illogical, but he would have none of that. This wasn't about logic. This was about Mattie.

Except it wasn't. And he knew that. But he couldn't stop himself from favoring his brother over everything else. He knew if he went through this, he would be sentencing this world to the same pain it had just gotten over four years ago, the same agony, the same level of death and destruction. Men, women, children…they would all die in the thousands again and again. Just like they had four years ago. And it would be his fault. His fault and his fault alone. Because he wasn't willing to sacrifice his brother.

He wanted to scream. He felt like his chest was being torn apart. He just wanted to curl up in a corner and cry and scream and beg and sob. But instead, he continued walking alongside Yao until they came to a door. Yao had the guard open it, revealing a tired looking Matt sitting solemnly on a shoddy bed. His fatigued violets looked up as the door opened, and his entire demeanor seemed to reverse in a split second. He jumped from the bed and rushed forward, lunging at Alfred and embracing him tightly. Yao gently prodded Alfred forward until he was in the room.

"You have fifteen minutes." He ordered the guard to lock the door again.

Then it was just the two of them. He hugged Mattie back with everything he had, burying his face in his brother's shoulder. Matt was saying it over and over again. "Al. Al. Oh God, Al." Alfred rocked Mattie gently back and forth until his sobbing brother calmed down. Then they parted. Matt's eyes were slightly sunken in, dark rings hanging under them.

"Matt…"

"Al…are…are you okay? You shouldn't have come, Al! They're going to…" He trailed over, his throat seeming to constrict.

"I know what they're going to do to me, Mattie."

"But…but you can't give in, Al! Whatever it is Yao wants, you can't just give it to him!"

Alfred cringed. Matt didn't _know_ what Yao was planning, which meant he didn't know what Yao was going to do to Ivan. Matt seemed to realize something was wrong.

"Al? Are you okay?"

Alfred shook his head. There were tears forming in the corner of his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mattie. For everything that's happened. For everything's that going to happen."

"You know?" Matt's voice was a whisper. "What is it? What's Yao going to do?"

He shook his head. "I can't, Matt. I just can't. What I'm doing…it's the most selfish thing in the world. But I can't choose anything else. I can't sacrifice _you_."

Matt looked at him indignantly. "But you can sacrifice yourself?"

_I would sacrifice the world for you, Mattie. And I will too. Because I'm too weak to live without you. _"A thousand times over."

Matt's façade shattered. "Al…no…I can't lose you!" He gripped the front of Alfred's shirt tightly. "I can't!"

Alfred shook his head. "You can do anything, Mattie. I know it."

"There has to be another solution, Al!"

"There's not." Alfred answered bluntly. It was Mattie or this world. And he was choosing the former. He wondered when it was that he'd ceased to be the hero he'd always claimed to. Heroes saved the world, not willingly let it be destroyed. But heroes also saved their loved ones. And Alfred was trapped in a position where he could do one or the other. Selfish. So selfish. He tried to remember just how many people had called him that in the past, but there were too many to name. _And they were all right_.

The door burst open, startling both brothers.

Yao stood on the other side, smiling. "It's time."

* * *

><p>His whisper was harsh, and he fought back a cough in the middle of the incantation. But it worked. The door popped open on its creaky hinges, the dim hallway light flooding the room. But he stood in the corner, still obscured by the shadows. He cradled his broken arm carefully and watched the doorway like a hawk. A few seconds passed before the two curious guards poked their heads into the doorway, wondering just how the door had opened by itself.<p>

He grinned and whispered more words.

A second later, they were both on the ground, lifeless and already cooling. He could have beaten them without killing them, but he had long since lost any sense of patience and sympathy for any of these bastards. He stepped outside the cell for the first time since Yao had dragged him to his room to discuss their _other options_. He had been sickened by the very idea that Yao had come up with, but his resistance had been met by more pain, unimaginable pain. And so he'd been forced to tell Yao that yes, his alternate plan would work.

_He_ was disgusting. Disgusting for ever giving in to any of Yao's demands. But he would reconcile his weakness. He would kill every fucker in this goddamned building if he had to. As long as he stopped Yao. He knew the man hadn't gone through with his plan yet. Which meant there was still time, still time to prevent the worst disaster in history from taking hold on the world again.

He passed by the two fallen guards, kicking one in the face. He spat sticky red-tinged mucus at them and kept walking. "Bloody fools."

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>I'm sure most of you know what Yao is planning by this point, right?

**Next Chapter: **Yao proceeds with his plan. Alfred and Ivan argue to the end. Arthur interrupts. [Preemptive **VIOLENCE **warning for those of you who skip my chapter headers]


	10. In the Wake of Eden

**Dro: **I warned you guys last chapter about the violence in this chapter. Heed the warning. As well as the warning for next chapter. These are probably two of the most graphic chapters in the entire story. Anyway, please read and **review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred and Ivan argue to the end. Yao is interrupted mid-spell. Arthur is forced to make a decision that changes everything.

**Warnings: **_Violence,_ language

**Disclaimer: **-insert generic disclaimer here-

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><p>One strap. Then another. To secure him to the table. Not out of fear that he would run, but because this was going to <em>hurt<em>, and they expected him to _writhe_. He laid back on the cold table, shivering as his bare torso came into contact with it. He stared blankly at the ceiling, at a loss of what to do or think. Should he just have tried to think of something? Gotten lost in a happy memory? He wanted to. He didn't want to focus on the pain, didn't want to contemplate just what fate it was that he was sentencing this world to. He couldn't. Because even in death, he knew wouldn't be able to forgive himself for it.

He had hoped they would drug him or just kill him to get it over with. But he had no such luck, and he cringed a few moments later when an obviously drugged Ivan was hauled into the room and laid out on the table next to him. His violet eyes fluttered open slowly, and he seemed to regain some of his coherency when he saw Alfred laying next to him.

"America…"

Alfred broke immediately. "I'm sorry."

Ivan was silent for several seconds. "Do not be. By doing this, you…you are saving Matvey, da?"

"Matt…Mattie _shouldn't_ be worth more than this world." He clenched his fists. "But I can't…I can't sacrifice him." His voice rose an octave, and he struggled to fight back tears. He was a hero. He was supposed to be able to save people.

Ivan's voice was low and calm. "I would have made the same choice."

"…I know." He knew. He knew very well that Ivan loved his brother. "But that doesn't make it any less selfish. This world is going to suffer."

"Do you know what he is planning to do with me?"

Alfred's heart ached. "Yes." He answered simply, refusing to look Ivan in the eye.

"I am going to die, da?"

No. No. Much worse. Much, much worse. "You…He wants to…" He couldn't even get the words out. "He wants to use your body…"

"I have gathered that much. I just do not know what _for_."

Alfred swallowed, his throat dry and scratchy. "For…for the other one."

"The…other one?"

"Yao…Yao plans to resurrect the other Russia."

He heard Ivan's sharp intake of breath, but he refused to look at the man anymore. He couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear any of this. This was wrong, so, so wrong. How could he possibly justify sentencing this world to devastation in exchange for Matt's life? He shouldn't have been doing this. He shouldn't. But…but it was _Matt_.

He didn't realize he was crying until a choked sob echoed across the nearly empty room. His only companion was Ivan. Ivan, who's response was not he was imagined it would be.

"So be it. For Matvey." He seemed to resign himself to his impending fate. But Alfred couldn't. He was so tempted to just break his bonds, grab Ivan, and try to make a run for it. But he knew he'd never get to Mattie in time. Yao's men would have killed him before Alfred could stop them.

"Do you even know what I mean, Ivan?" He said bitterly.

"…I believe so. The other me, he has no body, da? So in order to bring him back, they need another."

Ah, so he did understand. That made Alfred feel even worse. "I'm sorry…God, I'm sorry."

Ivan snorted. "Do not apologize to me, America, for something beyond your control. I do not blame you for giving in to Yao's demands, not when Matvey is the cost of saying no."

"But it's Matt or the world…"

"And you think being unable to knowingly sentence your brother to die is a weakness? If you had not made this decision, I would have worried about your integrity more. If Matvey dies, he dies. But if this other me is resurrected, he can always be killed again." Ivan stared up at the ceiling, thoughtful.

"But…_how_ are they going to be able to kill him? We almost failed to beat him the first time. We were _lucky_. What if they're not this time around? What if they fail and he destroys the world they've worked so hard to put back together? What if—?"

"What if? What if? What if? Stop saying that, Alfred. All that we know is happening here and now. All we know is that by doing this, we will save Matvey. That is what matters _now_. The future is always uncertain, so there is point about contemplating it, especially in this situation. You are pointlessly torturing yourself."

"When did you get so preachy? God, I swear…"

"I have always been this way. Your ears were just too stuffed full of arrogant bull shit to hear what I was saying." He retorted.

Alfred didn't really know how to reply that. And he didn't have to. Because it was at that moment that Yao walked through the door, armed with a knife. Alfred saw a horde of guards loitering outside the door, obviously ready to combat any interruption to the ritual. Alfred tensed. This was it. He was going to die now. After so many years of life, so many wars, so much gain, so much loss…this was his end. As a sacrifice to bring a monster back to life. He wondered if he would hate himself forever in the afterlife, perpetually trapped in self-blame.

Yao stopped as he neared them. His eyes moved back and forth, lingering on Ivan for a second longer before snapping back to America. "I hope you two have had a good chat. It's time to get this over with." He pushed up his sleeves as he whispered several words. A dim green light filled the room, and Alfred realized there must have been a magic circle drawn on the floor around him and Ivan. Yao entered it and stopped next to Ivan.

"You first."

Alfred wasn't sure what Yao was getting until he raised the knife. Alfred panicked. "Wait, you said you weren't going to hurt him!"

Yao paused and snorted, craning his neck to glare at Alfred. "You misinterpreted my words. That was not my fault. I _meant_ that Ivan would not be in any pain _after_ the resurrection process. And he will not be. Because he will be dead."

"You—"

"Let it go, Alfred." Ivan muttered, eying the knife. "I do believe I would much rather be dead than trapped somewhere inside my own body while another version of myself commits atrocities."

Yao sighed. "See, Alfred? _He_ gets it." Without giving either man any time to react, he plunged the knife into Ivan's chest. Ivan's eyes went wide, and he let out a choked gasp.

"Ivan!" Alfred pulled against his bonds, feeling them begin to give under his strength. It was only when Ivan's eyes slid over to him, the life quickly draining from them, that Alfred stopped. Ivan's lips moved, no sound coming out, but Alfred understood the message nonetheless.

_No regrets._

Ivan stopped moving. Alfred felt a piece of himself break. Nations weren't supposed to die like this. They just weren't. He forced himself to look away from the lifeless Ivan, but his eyes landed on the bloodied knife. Yao's eyes were closed, and he was rapidly muttering what must have been more of the spell. The light brightened, and Alfred winced. Then Yao was facing him, staring down at him in disdain.

"If it wasn't for you, none of this would have been necessary. Remember that. This was never your world to interfere in. What am I doing merely restores the balance you destroyed four years ago." He grabbed one of Alfred's bound hands and turned it so his wrist was facing the blade of the knife. Yao made a deep horizontal cut, the blade slicing through Alfred's skin and leaving a stream of blood in its wake. Alfred winced. It wasn't enough to kill him, not by a long shot, but that wasn't the point and he knew it. Yao matched the cut on his opposite wrist and let Alfred's blood run from both sides of the table. As soon as the blood splattered to the floor, the circle lit up even brighter, and Alfred cringed.

His heart was pounding in his chest. His wrists were on fire, the cuts like a scorching flame. He opened his eyes just as Yao positioned the knife above his heart. The end. This was the end. _Mattie…God, please forgive me. Both of you. _The knife began to move._ Arthur… wherever you are, just please stay safe. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. _

_I love you. _

The knife never made contact.

Yao flew across the room and slammed into the wall, the knife clattering uselessly to the floor. Alfred stared for several seconds, wondering what in God's name had just happened. Then he saw him. Standing in the doorway, the horde of guards laying unconscious and bloody at his feet, was Arthur. Alfred knew immediately it wasn't his Arthur. The haggard and haunted look in the man's eyes told him everything he needed to know. This was the other Arthur, the one that Yao had apparently kidnapped a while ago, no doubt to use Arthur's magic skills to his advantage.

He looked deranged.

His eyes were ringed in dark purple. He cradled one of his arms against his chest. His clothing was torn and bloody. He was riddle with cuts and bruises. Torture. Yao had tortured him. He slowly walked over to Alfred, limping all the way. He glared down at the startled nation, eyes furious.

"Break the fucking cuffs and get up. Or so help me I will make you wish you were never born."

Alfred didn't dare disobey him. He pulled against his bindings until they snapped and rose from the table, his wrists still aching. Arthur grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him out of the room, past a Yao that was just coming to, having been knocked out by the force of the impact. Arthur held him in an iron grip, pulling him along down the dimly lit hallways.

"Arthur, where are we going?"

"Out of this fucking hell hole."

"But…wait! Mattie is here somewhere!"

Arthur paused. "Your Matthew? He's probably dead by now seeing as you gave in to Yao's demands."

"No, he's not! I just saw him a few minutes ago!" He remembered the exact way to Matt's room. "We have to get him."

Arthur seemed to consider it, but as another massive group of guards poured around the corner, he growled and started pulling Alfred along. "No time."

Alfred pulled back, grinding to a halt. "I'm not leaving him to die here!"

Arthur backhanded him. "And I'm not letting you destroy my world for one person's life." He flicked his finger, a massive flame erupting behind them. Alfred heard the guards scream, but several of them made it through. The next thing he knew, he was running again. When had Arthur gotten this adept at magic? The last time he'd seen this Arthur, he hadn't really used much magic at all, but now it was like…He couldn't even describe it.

Alfred tried to stop him again, tried to get him to see reason. This was _Matt_. But Arthur wouldn't have it. Alfred was internally panicking. He couldn't leave Matt here. He would _die_. But Arthur refused to listen. Alfred tried to force them to halt, but a pain shot up his back. Arthur stared at him icily, green eyes bright and overly lucid. For a moment, Alfred was convinced that Arthur had used magic on him.

Then he realized he'd been shot.

"Ah…"

Arthur grabbed him as he fell and heaved him back up, rapidly whispering unintelligible words as he pulled the injured Alfred along. "You fool. Yao has already activated the circle. All you have to do is die for the spell to complete. And I'll be damned if I let that happen."

"Can't…leave…Matt."

"We _have_ to."

"He's my _brother!_"

"I know!" Arthur yelled at him. Alfred was about to scream at this bastard, this fucking bastard pretending to be Arthur. Because Arthur would have saved Matt in a heartbeat, so this had to be an imposter. And then he saw the tears. Arthur was crying. "I know, Alfred." He whispered. "I know."

"Arthur…"

"Please…please understand. I can't let my world…I can't let it happen."

"But Matt…"

"Will understand. And you _know_ that."

And he did. Because Matt had assured him of it earlier. Alfred found himself shedding tears, and he didn't even know what they were for. He wasn't sure if they were for Matt, who was bound to die now, or for Arthur, who'd been pushed to _this_, or for Ivan, who had already suffered a needless death. He was confused. He felt light-headed. He realized he had lost too much blood.

Arthur pulled him around the corner and sighed in relief. Alfred saw a set of stairs heading toward the surface, the same set he'd taken earlier when he'd arrived here. They were up the steps in less than five seconds. Arthur kicked the door at the entrance open and hauled Alfred outside. They were immediately met with a barrage of bullets. The building had an above ground level, Alfred remembered. One staffed with more of Yao's men.

Arthur frantically tried reach the safety of the woods. Several men were firing on them, and Alfred was struggling to keep up with him. His lungs were burning and his head was pounding, and he felt like he was going to pass out any second. He dared to look over his shoulder to see how many men were after them.

He saw the sniper aim at Arthur.

Without thinking, he threw himself in front of Arthur's prone form.

The bullet hit his heart.

* * *

><p>Arthur turned around a millisecond too late, just in time to watch Alfred fall. He caught the man before he hit the ground, quickly realizing just what had happened. "You fool! You bloody idiot!" He yelled, knowing Alfred couldn't even hear him any more. He tried to gather up all his energy, his body already nearly at its limit. He whispered the words he'd been practicing for an emergency, words that could take him anywhere. He felt the magic wrap around him and Alfred just as the men closed in on them.<p>

When he opened his eyes again, they were in a field of tall grass. One flicker of relief gave way to sheer panic. He laid Alfred down, immediately trying to resuscitate him. But it was too late, and he knew that. The wound in Alfred's chest wasn't even bleeding anymore. Alfred's eyes stared languidly at the sky, unseeing. Arthur breathed heavily, his pulse racing.

"No…No…" His tears landed on Alfred's cheek. "No, not you…no…" He had been so close, so close to saving Alfred, so close to saving his world. This couldn't happen.

"Alfred…Alfred…please…no…" It didn't matter that it wasn't _his_ Alfred. It was _Alfred_. And he couldn't…Alfred couldn't die. He just couldn't. He just couldn't. "Please….please don't…please come back. You _have_ to."

Alfred didn't stir.

Arthur choked up sobs, tears burning down his cheeks. He screamed incoherently at the surrounding grass and forest, uncaring as to whether anyone heard them or not. This couldn't happen. Not now. Not like this. He'd worked so hard. So hard. So hard to win. So hard to save everyone.

"Ah…" His face landed on Alfred's bloody chest, and he sobbed, loud, gasping sobs. His hand slipped down.

His fingers brushed against a knife. A knife he'd stolen from one of the black-clad men.

A knife.

He had a knife.

He didn't bother to consider the consequences. He just knew it couldn't end it like this. So he took the knife from his belt and heaved himself off of Alfred, shoving the blade through the grass and into the soil. He didn't care if it looked perfect or not. His hands moved automatically, and he crawled on his knees, rapidly cutting shapes and lines into the grass and soil until he had made a complete circle around Alfred. Then he crawled back inside it and settled on top of Alfred's already cooling body. He was shaking uncontrollably, the tears still pouring freely. There was a chilled fear inside his gut that begged him not to do this, but he was too far gone to listen to it. He let the knife slide around in his fingers and gripped it again, pointing it straight at his stomach.

He took one breath. Two. Three.

He plunged the knife into himself, stifling a cry at the pain. He felt his blood begin to pour from whatever vein he had severed, felt his ruptured organs begin to fail. But none of that mattered.

Alfred.

Alfred was all that mattered.

He was just as selfish a fool as Alfred was. And he'd known that all along. And this was where it had brought him, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything except Alfred. He didn't care that Alfred's death meant Russia was roaming the Earth again. He didn't care that his own Alfred would mourn his death. He didn't care that the other Matthew was bound to die now.

All he cared about was saving Alfred. Alfred. It didn't matter where he was from.

Alfred was Alfred.

And Arthur could not let Alfred die.

He shakily pulled the knife from his gut, blood and bile now working its way up his throat. He gagged, the blood rushing into mouth and dripping down his chin. He took both his hands, ignoring the pain in his injured limbs, ignoring all his pain, and held the knife above Alfred's chest. The circle was glowing dimly now, casting an eerie glow on the surrounding grass.

"Forgive me…Forgive me, Alfred. Please…"

He plunged the knife into Alfred's chest.

A burst of light blinded him.

He felt the life being ripped from his body.

And then he felt nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Well, that was exciting. Huh, wonder what happens next time?

**Next Chapter: **Matthew is forced to face his worst nightmare. Miles away, someone tries to deal with an overwhelming sense of guilt and failure. (**Preemptive Implied Rape Warning. **Seriously, heed it. I want no complaints about not warning you.)


	11. By the Sword of the Accuser

**Dro: **-yawn- Don't ask me how I'm keeping up with my chapters. I seriously don't know. But I will tell you not to expect one tomorrow. I'm moving out of my dorm right after my afternoon exam, so I won't be home until about 8:00. I might get something written though. But if I do, it'll be pretty late in the day. Anyway, read on, and please** review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Matthew faces his worst nightmare. Alfred's mind forces him to face his own.

**Warnings: **I warned you last chapter about this, but I'm going to reiterate: **IMPLIED RAPE.** You have been warned. Do not complain. Do not hate on me. Do not freak out and report me for scarring you for life. If you are easily offended or have an incredibly weak stomach, please _skip_ the first half of this chapter. Also, _brutal violence_ in relation to aforementioned implied rape.

**Disclaimer: **I'm getting way too lazy to think of anything amusing to say in these things...Just go back to chapter one and reread that one.

* * *

><p>Matthew listened intently at the door. He'd heard shouts and yells and screams and gunshots, and he had absolutely no idea what was going on. He could only hope that Alfred had come to his senses and escaped. He felt a pang in his chest at the thought that Alfred would leave him here, but he crushed it. He was not worth whatever tragedy Yao wanted to inflict upon this world. He wasn't. But even knowing that, he was still terrified. Death was not something Matthew often thought about. It was something that rarely happened to nations. Except in this world, it seemed, where they'd been slaughtered by an insane Ivan.<p>

Ivan. Where was Ivan now? Was he okay? Was he hurt? Matthew had only seen him once in his "stay" here, and since then, he'd been left to wonder just was Yao was doing to him. There was no reason the man couldn't put them in the same cell, right? He groaned under his breath. Yao probably thought they would try to escape if they were together. Matthew didn't particularly care about escaping at this point. He just wanted everyone he loved to be all right. He just wanted to know his brother was still breathing, his lover's heart was still beating.

There was a blast of light. Matthew closed his eyes, crying out at the intensity. It faded a few moments later, and Matthew heard the sounds of many men rushing down the hallway. None of them opened his door, and he couldn't help but be curious. What exactly was happening out there? What had that light been? Some kind of magic? He found himself getting more and more anxious. He hoped to God someone opened that heavy door soon. He didn't care who it was. It could've been the firing squad come to execute him. He just wanted to know what was happening out there.

But no one did. The hallways were silent for the next half hour, all the commotion seeming to abruptly stop. He waited and waited. He sat and paced. He stared at the ceiling and stared at the walls. But he heard nothing else, and he started to feel more and more alone. It was too silent, too eerily quiet. He felt as if the world outside had vanished and all that existed was this little cell, floating in a vast expanse of nothing.

And then the door opened. He shot up from his bed. Yao stood in the doorway. "Matthew. How are you feeling?"

"What happened?"

Yao seemed irritated. "Nothing of importance to you. It's time for you to go now. We're readying a car to take you to Paris. You should be able to find your way back from there by yourself."

"Wait…what are you talking about?" He took a step closer. "How am I supposed to find my way back to my own _dimension_?" He didn't want to acknowledge the fact that Yao letting him go meant that Alfred was…

"I apologize for the inconvenience. But I'm sure you will eventually be able to return home. I'm afraid I can't send you home myself, however. Now, just come along with me, and I will escort you to the car." Yao ushered him forward.

Matthew tried to hold back his emotions, but he found that to be an impossibility. "Tell me what's going on!" He roared. "Where's Al? Where's Ivan? What have you done?"

Yao opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped before any sound passed his lips, his eyes widening. The door was pushed open the rest of the way, revealing a looming figure behind Yao.

Ivan.

"I…Ivan?"

Ivan smirked, and a chill shot down Matthew's spine. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. He backed away as Ivan entered the room. "Ah. I see. So this is what you have been hiding from me, Yao. You are too cruel."

Yao was visibly panicking. "No, Ivan. You do not understand. That is the _other_ world's Canada."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "The _other_ Canada? Well," he grinned again, "that is certainly interesting."

Alarms were ringing so loud in Matthew's ears that he could barely hear what the other two men were saying. Ivan was _all wrong_. There was no sympathy in his eyes, no warmth. All the kindness and caring seemed have been drained from him and replaced with pure and utter malice. Matthew took another step back. An idea was scratching its way into his brain, and he tried to push it away, tried to deny it, but the idea was too loud. Too right. He found himself against the wall, trapped as Ivan closed in on him. A hand shot out and grabbed his chin, forcing Matthew to meet Ivan's violet eyes.

Heartless, cold violet eyes.

"Tell me, Matvey. Do you understand what you are seeing?" He squeezed harder, and Matthew whimpered. "Do you now who I am, Matvey?"

He knew. He knew, but he didn't want to know. He wanted to die rather than see this, wanted to perish rather than experience something this devastating. "Yes…" He whispered past his aching jaw.

Ivan leaned in, still smiling, until they were eye level. "Who am I, Matvey?"

The words were nothing more than whispers. "Soviet Russia…"

Ivan's smirk was so wide it contorted his face. "Ah, so you _do_ understand." He rolled his eyes around, contemplating something. "Or do you? Tell me, do you know whose body this is?"

Matthew stared at him, confused. What did he mean "whose body"? That was…and then he got it. This world's Russia had been blown up after his death. His body had practically been disintegrated. Al had told him all about it. But if Yao somehow _had_ managed to bring him back to life, then wouldn't he need another body? Another fitting body.

Another Russia's body.

"No…" It wasn't possible. It couldn't be.

"Smart boy you are, Matvey."

"No…please, no…" Not his Ivan. No.

"Now. Now. Don't worry about me hurting your Ivan, Mattie. I assure you he's long gone. It's just me now."

"No…" Matthew's legs buckled underneath him, but Ivan's grip held him up.

Ivan sneered at him. "You know, Matvey, the other you has caused me much trouble. I loved him, you know, just like you loved your Ivan. But it seems to me that loved ones always leave you in the end. Or in my case, are a major contributor _to_ you end."

Matthew swallowed, his mouth and jaw throbbing. "You…you deserved it." His voice was no more than a whimper. "You deserved everything that happened to you."

Ivan's eyes flashed angrily. "Yao," he growled in a low voice, "leave us."

Yao tensed. "But…but, Ivan…I promised him I would let him go at the end of all this."

Ivan chuckled. "Well, that was your mistake, wasn't it?" Ivan turned his head and glared at Yao. "_Leave." _He hissed.

Yao slowly backed away, meeting Matthew's frightened gaze for a brief moment, his eyes alight with regret and apology. He really _had_ meant to let Matthew go. He really _hadn't_ wanted to harm the boy. Matthew understand that. Yao had goals and sordid ambitions, but he wasn't a monster. This Ivan, however…this Soviet monstrosity that had killed and tortured so many fellow nations and started a war that had killed millions. He was the devil incarnate. And he was _back_. Matthew understood now, understood what Yao had been planning. Alfred hadn't just been a sacrifice for anything, he'd been a sacrifice to revive Soviet Russia. And _his_ Ivan had been the unwitting victim whose body had been _used_ as this bastard's new _container_.

The door closed softly, and Yao was gone.

Ivan threw Matthew across the room, and his back collided with the frame of the bed. He cried out, but it was abruptly cut off by Ivan as he backhanded him. Once. Twice. Three times. He felt his cheek bone started to strain under the force, and he whimpered. A hand wrapped around his throat. He gasped, struggling as he was hauled from the floor and into the air. Ivan slammed him onto the hard mattress of the cell bed. Matthew grabbed at the man's hand, trying to get him to release his iron grip, but he wasn't strong enough. He was struggling for air, and as Ivan climbed on top of him, straddling him and pinning him to the mattress, he could only choke and squirm.

Ivan stared down at him, half-angry, half-amused. "You are just like my own Matvey, aren't you? Headstrong and unrelenting in your beliefs to the point where you will _pretend_ you love me. I have personally had enough of that, enough of lies and deceit and people toying with my emotions. You are either with me or you are dead. That will be my new rule. No more blind trust. And I will start with you." He tightened his hold. "I will _show_ you why it is best to stay quiet and do as I say." He tucked his free fingers under the waistband of Matthew's pants.

Matthew thrashed wildly, his pulse jumping as he realized what Ivan was about to do. _Not this. Anything but this. Please, no. No. No. No. _But he couldn't get away. He couldn't escape. He was running out of air. Tears poured down his face. _Kill me. Just kill me._

Ivan's lips landed on Matthew's ear. "Do me a favor, Matvey." He pulled down Matthew's pants so roughly the fabric ripped. A feral growl erupted from Ivan's throat. "Scream."

* * *

><p>Alfred awoke to a gorgeous blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. He just stared at it for a long while, overcome with a feeling of peace and solitude. His periphery was framed with tall, lush grass, and it reminded him both of his childhood and his days as a young teen roaming the wild, free West. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this relaxed, this free from his responsibilities in the world. It had been so many years, so many decades. He longed for those simple times often, and now, he let himself bask in that wonderful feeling of freedom he had almost gotten used to missing.<p>

It didn't last long. As his senses fully returned to him, he realized there was a heavy pressure on his chest, accompanied by cold wetness that was sticky and dried in some places. He almost blushed at that thought until he held up his arm.

And saw it was covered in blood.

His heart skipped a beat. He gripped the object splayed across his torso as he sat up, immediately realizing it was Arthur. The recent past seemed to slap him in the face. He remembered the ritual, Ivan's death, and then…this world's Arthur had shown up and _forced_ him to escape. But then what had happened? They'd been running away from gunfire, and that was all he remembered. He rolled Arthur over and cradled him. The man's entire torso was bloodied, along with his mouth and chin. He'd been retching blood. Alfred felt his own blood run cold. He immediately checked Arthur's pulse.

It was steady.

He sighed in relief. He'd been sure that Arthur had been dead. But if he wasn't dead, then how…? He unbuttoned Arthur's shirt—the white fabric almost in tatters anyway—to reveal a completely smooth chest and stomach. Alfred stared in disbelief. If Arthur wasn't hurt, then why…? What in the world was going on? Alfred checked himself over, but he found no wounds either. Not the cuts from the ritual. And he _had_ been shot at least once, right? He ran a dirty hand through his matted hair and looked around. They were in the middle of a large field of grass, devoid of any signs of civilization. Sitting next to them was a bloody knife. As Alfred looked closer to where they were laying, he realized that something had been cut into the grass. A shape. He followed it all the way around himself.

A circle.

A magic circle.

He looked back to the sleeping man in his arms.

"Oh, Arthur. What have you done?"

Twenty minutes later, he sat Arthur down gently next to a stream and peeled off the remains of his shirt. He dunked it in the cool water and used the cleanest parts of the fabric to wash his chest off. He repeated the process with Arthur, dabbing gently at his stained lips and chin. When they were both sufficiently clean, he hauled Arthur onto his back and started walking. He had no clue where they were, but he hoped to God it was still somewhere in France. They had get to back to Paris. He wanted with all his heart to go back to Yao's base, to go in guns blazing and rescue Mattie heroically.

But…

Alfred bit his lip to stop it from quivering. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but if the position of the sun was any indicator, it was at least the day _after_ the escape had taken place. Which meant Yao had had plenty of time to…to…to _kill_ Mattie. Alfred's heart was aching, and his eyes were burning, but he up his pace, knowing that giving up and collapsing wouldn't help anyone. It Yao had really killed Mattie, then…then…

God, what was he going to do? What _could _he do? Mattie was…Mattie was _gone_. His brother was _gone_. He didn't try to stop the tears. There had been so many already. What was the point in stopping a few more? Or a lot more? What mattered at all any more? Mattie…he'd failed Mattie. He'd never see Matt's face again, never hear his voice. He held back a sob. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be in a boring meeting right now, joking about Arthur's eyebrows and sneaking extra donuts under the table. This was never supposed to be reality. This was supposed to be a nightmare. His worst nightmare.

A groaned floated into his ear. Arthur was waking up. Alfred slipped the man from his back and lowered him gently to the ground, holding him against his chest. Green eyes fluttered open. Arthur blinked in confusion for several seconds.

"Al…fred?"

"Hey. You okay?" Alfred tried to keep his voice steady, but he the evidence of his breakdown was clearly visible on his face.

"What…what happened?"

"I…I was hoping you could tell me. I woke up in a field."

Arthur's eyes widened, and his hands shot to his bare stomach, only to come in contact with perfect skin. His scars from wars and catastrophes long past were still there, of course, faintly visible. But whatever wound Arthur was searching for was not. "I…this…but how am I…?"

"How are you…what?"

Arthur didn't answer. "I…I'm sorry. I'm just confused. I was hurt escaping from Yao, and I…I teleported us here."

"Teleported? With magic?"

He nodded slowly "Yes. Yes. God, I'm just glad it worked."

"And our wounds?"

Arthur stiffened. "Pardon?"

"Our wounds, Arthur. I was hurt. You said you were hurt. But where are our wounds?"

"I…well…I healed you."

Alfred narrowed his gaze. "Healed? How much can you do with magic exactly?"

"A lot more than I could the last time we met." He pushed away from Alfred and rose to his feet, slightly shaky.

Alfred wasn't sure he bought this whole story, but he would let it go for now. Just for now. Because right now, he couldn't handle any more secrets, any more disasters. He couldn't handle anything right now. And if he had things his way, he would happily curl up and die right there, sobbing until he choked on the forest floor. But things weren't going his way. If they had been, this would never have happened in the first place.

He coughed. "So, where are we?"

Arthur looked around. "I'm not sure. But I know we're still in France. My spell couldn't take us but so far. We just need to find a road."

"Okay."

Arthur gazed up at him, sorrow pooling in his eyes. "Alfred, I'm so sorry…about everything. I just…I screwed up."

Alfred pressed his thumb against Arthur's lips. "Don't. There's only one person I blame here." He started walking again. "And I intend to make him know it."

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>So, how many of you thought Arthur was dead? If you lie, I'll know. I have your previous reviews as evidence! Ha!

**Next Chapter: **Parallel! Al, Arthur, and Parallel! Matt managed to track down Yao's base, only to be horrified by what they discover. Meanwhile, Alfred and Parallel! Arthur journey back to Paris in search of the former group. There's a phone call that leads to some revelations. Lots of anger. Lots of sadness. (What else do you expect? This is _my_ story, after all.)


	12. When the Levee Breaks

**Dro: **Sorry this is so late. My parents were randomly like "Wanna go somewhere?" at 2:00 while I was in the middle of writing this. Bah! Anyway, have at it. And please do **review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Arthur, Alfred, and Matthew come upon a horror show. Meanwhile, the other Arthur and Alfred return to Paris and make a phone call.

**Warnings: **References to Past Rape, Language, Violence

**Disclaimer: **Dro doesn't even have enough money to buy the Hetalia One Coins...so...yeah.

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><p>Matthew gazed through the binoculars, waiting for any sign of someone emerging from the building. He, Al, and the other Arthur had arrived an hour ago and settled in the woods just outside Yao's facility. It had taken over a full day and a lot of negotiating with people with security cameras to find their way here. A few times, they'd strayed from Yao's path back to his base, and the setbacks had nearly set him off. He was on edge, stressed out. He knew he needed to keep a cool head in order to rescue Alfred, but the very idea that, at any second, Alfred could die kept eating away at him.<p>

For all they knew, they were already too late. None of them knew if Yao would wait or not to complete whatever ritual he was attempting. Matthew tried to quell his guilt. If only he'd been fast enough to stop Alfred from leaving. If only been strong enough. But he'd let Alfred slip right through his fingers. And he was becoming more and more convinced every second that Alfred had been carried away in the wind like a grain of sand, never to be found again. He gripped the binoculars harder, trying to concentrate solely on the door of the building.

They had started to plot a way to infiltrate the base, but they'd scrapped all of that planning when they'd seen a sleek black car—identical to the one Alfred had been taken away in—pull up in front of the place. No one had emerged from the car, but they could clearly make out a figure in the driver's seat, who was apparently waiting for someone to emerge from the base. They were riding on that someone being of importance, namely, Yao. Matthew flicked the binoculars from the car to the door, still not seeing anymore obvious movement.

"Anything, Matt?" Al asked him. Arthur sat on his other side, worried green eyes trained on the silent scene in front of them.

"No. Not…" He tensed. "Wait. The door just opened. A couple of guards and…Yao!" He spotted the Chinese man walking briskly toward the car. Matthew frowned. The look on Yao's face was apprehensive. Matthew had been expecting triumph or glee or some other emotion that indicated that Yao had gotten his way, that Alfred was dead. But there was nothing that indicated he'd won. And that almost scared him more.

He looked back to the door just in time to see someone else emerge.

Someone he'd hoped he'd never see again.

Someone who haunted his nightmares.

His brain tried to rationalize that there was another Ivan, another Russia from another world. But as soon as Matthew's eyes honed in on Ivan's, he knew that wasn't the answer. He _knew_ those eyes, knew the depths of hatred and insanity and sadism in those dark pupils, knew the playful gleam in those violet irises. The binoculars fell out of his hands.

"Ivan…"

"Yeah, I see him." He seemed to realize Matt's distress. "Matt, it's the other one, remember?"

Matthew slowly shook his head. "No. No, it's not. It's _him._" It all made sense now. The ritual. Using Alfred as a sacrifice. "They've brought him back. Yao brought him back. And they sacrificed Alfred to do it."

Arthur snapped. "What the bloody hell are you babbling about?" He snatched the fallen binoculars. "There's no way in hell that—" His voice caught mid-sentence as he peered through the magnified view of the binoculars, locking onto another figure who'd emerged from the doorway, escorted by guards.

Ivan had no guards.

But this person did.

This blond, limping person who was hugging himself tightly, his head downcast. Matthew recognized him immediately. Himself. The other him stopped as he neared Ivan, seemingly afraid to get too close. Matthew knew without even seeing the other him what had happened. It was the demeanor of his reflection, in the way his double flinched as Ivan turned around. Matthew himself jumped when Ivan's hand shot out and grabbed the poor man's face, forcing him to look up at the towering Russian. Matthew felt a pang in his heart when the long blond hair fell away from the other boy's face, revealing that one entire side of it was black and blue, his lips swollen and busted.

He had betrayed Ivan.

And his other self had suffered the consequences.

"Matthew…Oh God…" Arthur murmured, his voice tight.

"Tell me I'm imagining things." Alfred muttered. "Tell me our Russia isn't back. Tell me the other Matt wasn't…"

But neither of them could tell him anything. Because he was right.

Matthew saw his brother's rage ignite right before his eyes. It had always been something terrifying, something dreadful. Al's anger was accompanied by an overwhelming sense of fear to whoever saw it. It was like staring into the face of furious god come to get his vengeance on those who had dared to profane against him. Al's anger burned white and hot, and it raged like an inferno that incinerated everything in its path. Matthew had only seen this level of anger twice in his life. This made the third. And he already knew what was going to happen before Al even said anything.

"Get out your guns. Now."

"Al, we can't just attack Russia. He's surrounded by guards. We'll be killed." Matthew pleaded.

"Yeah, and if we don't get the other you out of his clutches, a lot worse will happen to him." He let out a shaky breath. "I'm not going to try to kill Russia, Matt. Just to get the other Matthew back. That's all. I just want you guys to back me up, all right? Just keep the guards off me." He held up his fingers with a count of five. Matthew hesitantly pulled out his handgun, Arthur doing the same. Al started counting down. Matthew's eyes darted back and forth. Ivan entered the car, disappearing from view. Al's fingers hit two. The guards started pushing Matthew toward the open car door.

One.

Matthew leapt up and fire at the guard nearest to the door, hitting him in the shoulder and sending him keeling over into the car. Alfred made a mad dash for the parking lot, screaming at the other Matthew to run. The boy slipped out of the other guard's grasp and started rushing forward to meet Alfred halfway. Arthur fired, taking out the remaining guard at the door. Ivan pushed the first guard's body out of the car and started to emerge. Armed. Matthew and Arthur continued to shoot off rounds, forcing Yao's remaining men to take cover or get shot. The other Matthew ran right into Alfred, almost sending the both of him over. But Al kept standing, and he heaved the younger man over his shoulder and took off back toward the woods, signaling for them to run for it. Matthew shot off one more round, aiming at the car. It shattered the window right next to an angry looking Ivan.

Ivan's eyes met Matthew's. Matthew shoved his gun back its holster, turned away slowly, and walked briskly into the forest to catch up to Arthur and Al. He smirked to himself. _That's right, Ivan. You've lost me. You've lost me, and you're not getting me back. _

* * *

><p>They'd found a road, and on that road, they'd found a car. The woman driving it had looked horrified at seeing two dirty, shirtless men with blood-stained clothing, and they'd ended up claiming they'd been in an accident and needed a ride to the nearest town. She was visibly petrified and no doubt thought that they were serial killers or some nonsense, but she was nice to give them a quick five minute ride to a small middle-of-nowhere town with a single gas station and no hotels. It was enough though. There was a thrift store (from which they stole clothing, seeing as neither of them had any money), and there was a restaurant (at which they dined and ditched, laughing all the way).<p>

It had been a while since Alfred had had enough mischief in himself to break the law like that. The stress of the recession and the wars had been getting to him. And now, of course, the stress of _this_. Once they had reached the edge of town and begged another man until he'd given in and agreed to let them hitch-hike to Paris, Alfred was once again faced with the reality he desperately wished was a dream. Matt was probably dead. He had run away from Yao and left his brother to die. He had bouts of intense anger where he wanted to scream at Arthur for making him leave, but he understood perfectly why Arthur had done what he had. Arthur was suffering for abandoning Matthew too, but this was _his_ world and _not_ his Matt. Alfred couldn't possibly hate him for choosing to save his world. He could, however, blame himself for being unable to save Matt. And he would, too. For the rest of his life.

"Alfred, are you okay?"

Alfred uncovered his eyes, which he'd been pressing his hands over for several minutes. Arthur sat across from him in the truck bed, legs stretched out, eying him sympathetically. He had a lot he wanted to say to Arthur, a lot he wanted to ask, but he felt like this wasn't the right time for it. Then again, when would it ever be?

"No, not really."

Arthur sighed deeply, his breath mixing with the wind that was rushing by them. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything."

"You've said that already." Alfred murmured.

"And I'll keep saying it until you believe me."

"I do believe you, Arthur. It just doesn't make me feel any better. It's not _you_ I'm mad at, remember? I thought I made that clear."

Arthur shook his head. "It doesn't matter if you blame me or not. I blame myself. I should have been able to stop this, to stop Yao before he ever got this insane plan off the ground. But I had let myself go. I let myself become weak and complacent. I let my guard down, and I should have known better. If it hadn't been for me, Yao would have never taken your Matthew in the first place."

"Arthur…"

"I helped him, you know? I helped him perfect the spell. I'm the one that helped him rewrite it too, so that he could use your Ivan's body for it." Arthur's lips were drawn tightly, and his eyes were filled regret.

Alfred pursed his lips. "Yao tortured you."

"That's not an excuse for giving in. I've been in situations like that before. I should have withstood it."

Alfred bit his lip. "Don't say that, Arthur. No one should _have_ to go through torture. No one."

Arthur said nothing else, and they were silent the rest of the way back to Paris. When they got off, thanking the man for his generosity, Alfred realized he had no clue where he should go. He figured he should return to the hotel where he'd left the other Matthew…Matt…he shook his head. No, no. _He_ was probably gone by now. His Arthur and his double had already arrived by this point. They were all probably somewhere else. Arthur. That was his only consolation. That somewhere around here was Arthur, _his_ Arthur. The one he loved and cherished. The one whose arms he could let himself cry in. The one whose lips would meet his and would take all his sobs. He wanted his Arthur so badly now. With Mattie…with Matt…gone…he needed someone. He needed Arthur. Arthur was all he had now. He had screwed up and let his brother get taken away.

"Let's go find the others." He mumbled.

"It's a big city. Let's find a hotel first."

Two hours later they sat on a plush hotel bed, Arthur rapidly dialing the numbers of the courtesy telephone. Alfred tapped his pants leg absently, listening intently at the dull dial tone of the phone. Arthur breathed in deeply, as if he expected something to go horribly wrong at any second. Alfred didn't blame him. He expected the same. The phone rang several times, and Arthur looked ready to give up. He made to replace the phone on the receiver when a voice flared up on the other end. He nearly slammed the phone against his face.

"Alfred?"

"Arthur…?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Arthur, where are you? We thought Yao still had you!"

"No. No, I'm fine. I'm in Paris with the other you."

"He's _alive_? How?" Alfred didn't miss his double's incredulous tone.

Arthur paled considerably. "Um…"

Alfred's sinking suspicions about Arthur suddenly hit him full force and he snatched the phone from the man before he could argue. "Is there a problem with me being alive?" He spoke to the receiver.

"…Well, yes. We thought Yao was going to sacrifice you."

"And he was, but I escaped." He eyed Arthur, projecting '_Don't you move'_ with every part of his body. Arthur seemed to get the message, and he sat rigid and still.

"Okay," the identical voice on the phone replied. "Then explain to me how my world's Russia is walking around in the world of the living. _You _were supposed to be the sacrifice to bring him back, right?"

"Yeah, I was." Ivan was back. The _other_ Ivan. He mouthed it silently: _Arthur, what did you _do?

Arthur was wringing his hands nervously, refusing to meet Alfred's gaze.

"Then how are you both alive?" The other him sounded exasperated.

Alfred breathed heavily. "That's a really good question. Care to answer, Arthur?"

Arthur was silent, and Alfred was about to yell at him, but his double kept talking. "What does Arthur have to do with it?"

"Well, personally," Alfred began, "I think Arthur has everything to do with it. Isn't that right, Arthur?"

"Oh, for the love of God, give me the bloody phone!" The voice barreled through the receiver, and Alfred almost dropped the phone. "Alfred! Are you there?"

"Arthur." He turned his attention away from his lover's double. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Just fine. But you…I thought you were dead." The last word emerged as a whisper.

Alfred licked his lips. "Yeah, me too for a while there."

"I'm just glad you're all right."

Alfred clenched his pant leg. "I'm not all right, Arthur. Matt…I lost Matt. I was right _there_, in the same building, and I couldn't…" His voice started to crack.

Arthur was silent for several seconds, and Alfred could just imagine the tears coming to the older man's eyes, staining his cheeks. But when he spoke, he said something very different than Alfred was expecting. "Alfred, Matthew isn't dead."

"…What?"

"He's here. We have him. We tracked Yao's base down. That's how we know about Russia. We staked out the base and…we found Matthew. We rescued him. He—"

"So, he's there with you? He's okay? Can you put him on? I need to talk to him. Bad. Please."

Arthur loudly swallowed. "Alfred, listen to me first, please, love. Matthew…well, surely you know about this world's Russia. You've fought him. You know about his brutality…"

As soon as the word "brutality" escaped from Arthur's lips, a terrifying chill shot down Alfred's spine. "What happened? What happened to him? Is he hurt?"

Arthur hesitated. "…Yes."

"How bad? Is he in the hospital?"

"No…"

Alfred paused. "Is…is there something I'm missing here? You're making it sound like…"

"Alfred, you know that this world's Matthew and this world's Russia were lovers, right?"

Alfred's world crumbled. "No…No…No. No. Arthur, don't you dare say that…don't you _dare_!"

"Alfred, I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. We got there too late to stop anything. He raped Matthew, Alfred. Ivan raped Matthew."

The phone hit the floor.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Aw, that was so heartbreaking. Poor Mattie...

**Next Chapter: **Alfred and Arthur make a discovery. Arthur has a revelation. Alfred is confused and shocked. Neither of them have any idea how to handle the situation.


	13. The Mark of Cain

**Dro: **Wow, I've been so lazy lately. I get up at noon and don't start writing until 2:00, so now my stuff ends up posted at 4:00 instead of 3:00. Oh well. Anyway, this story is about to get a lot more complicated in terms of plot, so hang tight! And please do **review!** -cough-And if you like me enough and have a copious amount of time, I wouldn't mind some fanart too. I really want one of Feliciano from the prologue, dressed all in black with the umbrella.-cough- I said nothing!

**Chapter Summary: **Arthur has a revelation. Alfred is confused. Neither of them have any idea how to deal with it.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro has no money to purchase APH. She just blew $70 on the first two seasons of Stargate SG-1 too, so I don't think she'll saving enough anytime soon to buy APH.

* * *

><p>Alfred didn't return for three hours. Not that Arthur blamed him for it, by any means. It was his fault that Alfred's brother had gotten raped. If he hadn't been so obstinate about fleeing the base without saving the boy, then this never would have happened. But he'd been out of his right mind at the time, his body haggard and sore, his thoughts in shambles. That didn't make it right, of course. He should have listened to Alfred's desperate pleading, should have done something to save the other Matthew. But he hadn't, and the innocent boy had paid the price for it.<p>

As he laid on the bed, arm covering his eyes, he wondered who would show up first. His own Alfred, the other him, and both Matthews were set to be back in Paris soon. He almost dreaded them more than he did Alfred. How could he face the other Matthew? How could he face himself? The man was probably going to eat him alive. And Alfred…his own Alfred, he would be so disappointed in him. And that wasn't even touching on the biggest problem he now had: explaining just what he'd done to Alfred.

And to himself.

He honestly wasn't even sure. He'd fully intended to die when he'd stabbed himself with the knife. He'd been a _sacrifice_ to bring back Alfred. It was supposed to have worked the same way that Ivan's resurrection had. So what had gone wrong? Or right? Was it because he'd sacrificed himself instead of dying by another's hand? He groaned. He would have to research this heavily, and he didn't have the time for that. Alfred would no doubt come back angry and asking questions that he didn't yet have the answer to.

"What the hell did I do?"

"That's what I'd like to know."

He bolted up, spotting Alfred leaning in the doorway. He'd been so lost in his own head that he hadn't even heard the man return. Alfred clambered into the room and slammed the door behind him, stumbling until he reached the bed. He steadied himself on the bedpost. Arthur eyed him warily.

"Are you drunk?"

"The fuck does it matter?" Alfred's speech was slightly slurred. He'd been drinking all right. But to what extent, Arthur couldn't tell.

"Why don't you sit down?"

Alfred glared at him. "Why don't you explain what the hell you did to me?"

"Alfred, listen—"

"Arthur!" He yelled. "I don't want your excuses. I want the truth. Did I die?"

"Alfred—"

"_Tell_ me." He commanded.

Arthur swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling incredibly dry. "Yes."

Alfred seemed to sober up over a matter of seconds. He sank down onto the mattress. "I died."

"…Yes." Arthur refused to look at him. "A…a sniper shot you in the chest."

"Oh." Arthur wasn't sure what Alfred had been expecting, and the younger man's face was unreadable. "So…how am I alive?"

Arthur shook his head slowly. "I…I sacrificed…myself…to bring you back."

Alfred's lips parted, and Arthur heard a sharp intake of breath. "You killed yourself…to resurrect me?"

"Yes." He whispered.

"But…" Alfred wringed his hands. "Then how are you still alive?"

Arthur pulled a pillow into his lap and embraced it tightly, leaning back against the headboard. "See, that's just it. I don't _know_ how I'm still alive. I hadn't planned on it. I honestly though I was going to die."

Alfred sighed deeply. "I see." He gripped the bedspread. "Why did you lie to me?"

Arthur buried his face in the pillow. "I was afraid. I didn't know what had happened, and I was confused, and I didn't want to scare you…and…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everything."

Alfred shook his head. "I've told you already, this isn't your fault and I don't blame you. I still don't blame you."

_You should. And I wish you would._ "I…whenever I figure out just what happened, I'll tell you, okay? I promise."

Alfred nodded. "Okay." He rose from the bed and stretched. "I'm going to take a nice, hot shower and clean up before the others get here. I feel like I'm going to need it. That, and a lot of coffee." He slinked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Arthur wondered how he was coping with the news about Matthew, and he figured "not well" didn't even begin to cover it. He pressed his face harder into the pillow, dreading every second that passed. He couldn't face them. He just couldn't. How could he explain that he helped Yao? How could he explain that he let Matthew get raped? How had his life spiraled out of control so quickly? Just two weeks ago, he was sitting in his own home sipping tea and reading the paper. Now his home was gone, and his relationships were heading toward ruin, and he'd helped bring back the greatest enemy the world had ever known. God, how had he become such a failure?

"Ow!" He wrenched his hand away from the pillow, watching as a stream of blood ran down his arm from a deep cut in his hand. "What the bloody…?" He examined it closer and then turned the pillow around and around, looking for anything sharp sticking it out of it. But there was nothing there. So where had the cut come from? Magic? Was someone attacking him? He slipped out of the bed and headed to the bathroom, hoping Alfred hadn't locked the door. He needed a cloth to stop the bleeding. He knocked gently. "Alfred, could I come in for a second? I cut myself. I need a washcloth."

Surprisingly, the door opened, revealing a dripping Alfred in a low-hanging towel with a washcloth pressed against his palm. "What now?"

Arthur eyed the cloth, watching an obvious blood stain form. "Um, what happened to your hand?" A suspicion had weeded its way into his mind, and he was actively trying to fight it.

"I accidentally broke a glass bottle of some kind of fancy lotion or something." He laughed sheepishly. "Anyway, what did you need?"

"Just a washcloth." His voice was oddly dull and steady, even to his own ears.

"For what?"

Arthur held up his bleeding hand, and Alfred's eyes widened. "Oh, shit! Why didn't you say something sooner?" He turned away from the door and trudged across the room, grabbing a clean cloth from the towel rack. When he returned, instead of handing the cloth to Arthur like the man had expected, Alfred wetted it at the sink and began to meticulously clean the blood from Arthur's arm, trailing the cloth up to the still bleeding gash on his palm. Arthur felt like an immense pressure had come at him from all sides, freezing his body in place.

Alfred pressed the now bloody washcloth against the still oozing wound, applying pressure for several seconds. He dropped the cloth over his own cut into the sink. Then he paused, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion. Arthur couldn't move. He honestly couldn't. That sneaking suspicion had quickly infected his entire mind, and now the idea had consumed all his other thoughts. Alfred slowly removed the soiled cloth from Arthur's outstretched hand and raised his own, placing the two palms side by side.

The wounds were _exactly_ the same.

Their eyes met.

"Arthur…what…what's going on?"

Arthur's mouth opened and closed and opened and closed, but he couldn't get a word out. Now it made sense. Now it all made sense. He knew exactly what happened, and he had a theory as to why. But this…this ruined _everything_. This was going to blow up in both their faces. His mind flashed forward to the uncertain future. He saw anger and yelling and tears and sadness. This was going to destroy them. This was going to tear all their relationships apart. If somehow they actually managed to defeat Russia again…_this_ would still be hanging over their shoulders.

"Arthur, what's happened?"

"I…I didn't meant to."

"You didn't mean to _what?_" Alfred was visibly panicking, his blue eyes wide and fearful.

"When…when I sacrificed myself to bring you back…I...I think I…"

"Just spit it out, Arthur! What did you do?"

Arthur didn't know how to say this in a way that wouldn't be utterly devastating. So he just said it in the simplest manner he knew how.

"I bound us together."

* * *

><p>They sat across from each other, Alfred's forehead pressed against the table. "Explain it to me again." He said. Arthur had already explained it three times, but Alfred was still dazed and lost. He could grasp the concept. In fact, he could completely understand. But he didn't <em>want<em> to accept what it was this Arthur was telling him. He couldn't. Not this. Anything but this.

Arthur fidgeted in his seat. "I believe that, when I tried to sacrifice myself to bring you back, that the spell instead _split_ my own life force _in half_ and gave one part to you instead of giving it all like I meant to. I don't know exactly why that happened, but I'm pretty sure it did."

"So what does that mean? For us?"

Arthur sighed. "It means we're bound together. We share the same the life force. If one of us is hurt, the other one is. If one of us dies, the other one does. Two halves of the same whole. One half can't continue without the other."

Alfred's throat felt dry, and he felt drained. He really needed to go get some coffee. He pressed his fingers into his temples. "So where does that leave us? What do we have to do, you know, to fix it?" He sat back in his chair and gazed at Arthur, silently pleading.

But Arthur just shook his head. His response was a barely comprehensible whisper. "I don't we can."

"What? If you could do this to me, you should be able to be reverse it, right?"

"Alfred, you're _living_ off my life force. If I take it back, you die."

Alfred slumped. "Oh. Right. Forgot about that." He tried to find a positive side to this. "Well…um…" He failed. It wasn't so much the idea of being bound to Arthur that scared him. It was more the idea of being bound to _this_ Arthur and what that entailed. "You know, why don't we just keep this on the down low until this whole Russia thing blows over? We really don't need the added stress."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, I agree. But we'll need to be extra careful. If either of us is hurt…" He held up his cut palm to emphasize his point.

Alfred winced. "I'm really sorry about that, by the way."

"No, it's fine. You didn't know, and it was an accident."

Alfred bit his lip. He'd been thinking this over for the last several minutes, and he was still hesitant to ask this question. But he _had_ to know the answer. "Um, Arthur…just _how_ bound together are we? I mean, besides our injuries being tied together and everything?"

Arthur looked even _more_ hesitant to answer that question than Alfred was to ask it. "Right now? Probably not very much. But things like this tend to be progressive."

"As in…what?"

"As in anything. Literally _anything_. The particulars of being bound in this way are uncertain. I'd have to do a lot of research that I just don't have the time for."

"So….anything. Like, what, mental connections? Other physical connections? I mean, when I go back home, what will happen to us?"

It was supposed to be a simple question, but Arthur began to pale as soon as Alfred asked it, and that was when he really realized the gravity of the situation. "Um, Arthur…I _can_ go home, right?"

"Of course, Alfred." Arthur licked his lips, refusing to meet Alfred's gaze. "Just…not without me."

Alfred was sure he'd misheard. "Come again?"

Arthur sighed. "Alfred, we're running on the same life force. I'm not sure how far apart we can be _in this world_. For all I know, you could go across town and _that _would be too far and we'd both up in immense pain from being not being close enough. I honestly don't know. But I'm pretty damn sure that a _dimension_ is too far. It would break the connection between us, and if that happened…"

"We would both die."

Arthur nodded silently.

"Holy…" Alfred clenched his eyes shut. This was a disaster. The entire thing. It had been since Yao had finished that damn spell to send them here, since Feliciano had interrupted at the last second. And it was just getting worse and worse and worse. When would it end? He was starting to doubt that it ever would.

"I'm sorry."

He slammed his fists on the table and stood up, sending his chair toppling over. Arthur gasped, staring up at him in fear. He marched around the table and grabbed Arthur by the shoulders. "For the last Goddamn time, Arthur, I _do not_ blame you. So _stop_ apologizing to me! This isn't your fault! Okay? Not even this bound together thing. _You_ didn't kill me, and you certainly didn't mean for this to happen. In fact, I…I'm glad it did. Because the alternative was _you_ dying in my place. And that…that would be much, much worse than this. We'll work _this_ out, somehow, some way. But you being dead…that wouldn't have worked out for anyone except Ivan and Yao." He rubbed Arthur's shoulders gently. "Okay, Arthur? Look, I know you feel responsible for all this, but it's not your fault. So _please_, _please_ stop blaming yourself. Please."

Arthur looked ready to cry. Alfred pulled him to his feet and hugged him tightly, and Arthur pressed his face into Alfred's chest. Alfred could feel him stifling sobs. Alfred cringed. He had yet to consider the possible mental damage that Arthur had suffered from his confinement and torture. Arthur was really at wit's end here, and he was starting to crack. Alfred rubbed his back, trying to soothe him. Arthur needed to rest. He needed to fully recover from this situation, and yet, he couldn't. Because now Ivan was out there again, the Ivan that Arthur had worked so hard to beat four years ago. All of that work…worthless. And Arthur had been a part of bringing him back. Alfred couldn't imagine the stress and guilt that was eating away at Arthur. And he had absolutely no clue how to make this any better.

Arthur stiffened in his arms, and Alfred looked worriedly down at him. "What's wrong?"

His voice was a whisper. "Do you feel it?"

"Feel what?" Was something happening?

"Our heartbeats."

"What about them?"

"Hush. And feel for them."

Confused, Alfred focused his attention on their chests, searching for their heartbeats. He only found one.

No. That wasn't right.

There _were_ two.

And they were exactly the same.

"Arthur…holy hell…we really are…"

Someone knocked loudly on the door, and Alfred's own voice filtered through. "Arthur, open up! It's us!"

They stared at each other for a few silent, tense seconds. Arthur beat him to it. "Don't speak a word of this."

Alfred shook his head. "Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>One of the biggest revelations in the entire story right there. The long-reaching repercussions of this development are quite impressive.

**Next Chapter: **The confusing reunion of three pairs of doubles. Alfred confronts Matthew about the rape. Parallel!Arthur and Parallel!Alfred have their own personal reunion, during which Arthur realizes something startling. Oh, and Ludwig and Feliciano show up!


	14. Perpetual Motion

**Dro: **Hopefully, I've at least begun to fix the double confusion. I don't think it's too hard to figure out who's who in context here (as long as you remembered what's been happening to which characters). I try to use all the cues possible. Please **review** if you're still having a problem figure the doubles out! (And also **review** if you aren't too. I'd like to know I improved this system at least a bit).

**Chapter Summary: **Everyone reunites. Alfred confronts Matthew. Feliciano and Ludwig show up. Parallel!Arthur realizes something startling.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro doesn't even have a job. Do you honestly think she can afford to buy APH?

* * *

><p>Alfred hadn't been sure what to expect when he saw Mattie. There'd been a thousand images that had zipped through his mind, everything from "perfectly fine" to "completely devastated." But one that he hadn't ever considered was just…nothing. That was the look on Mattie's bruised and battered face. Nothing. No emotion. No expression. Nothing. And that terrified him more than the hysterically crying Matthew he'd expected to walk in the door. The group filed in with Mattie in the middle, as if they were in a protective formation. Knowing them, they probably were.<p>

Alfred came face to face with his double. The man looked better than he had the last time Alfred had seen him, and he wondered just how much this America had recovered. And how much he'd ruined all that recovery by helping Russia get resurrected. This world's Matt shut the door behind him before turning his gaze on Alfred. There was relief in his expression, but it was hampered by the current situation. They were all on edge, all scared, all uncertain about the future.

He turned to find where his brother had retreated to and found him sinking listlessly into a chair and staring out the window. _Oh, Matt…what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say?_ There was no way to make this better. And even with magic on his side, he was sure he couldn't turn back time. So what did he do? How did he fix this? Mattie was his little brother. He was supposed to be able to protect him, damn it! How had he ruined everything so miserably in just a few days? He remembered the last time he'd talked to Matt before this had all started to unfold. They'd both been so happy, so carefree. Alfred had finally—finally, damn it—managed to put the past behind him and move on. His body was back to normal after Russia's final attack. His mind, though still marred by the occasional nightmare, had settled. He and Matt and Arthur were closer than they'd ever been, even with the occasional animosity over their own Ivan.

And now all that recovery was ruined. All of it. They would have to go through hell and back all over again to defeat Russia. And who knew what would happen this time? He was already fucking _bound_ to the other Arthur, and he had no clue how they could break it to the other him and his own lover. They weren't even sure what was going to happen to them yet! Matt was probably scarred for life. Who knew if he would completely recover from this? What was next? Would someone finally die? _Permanently?_ Would Russia destroy the world they'd all worked so hard to rebuild? Another nuclear strike? Another war?

He sighed. "Arthur."

"_Yes?"_ They both answered.

Alfred stared, really registering for the first time that there two of each of them in the room. "Oh…we need to fix that, don't we?"

His own Arthur answered. "That would probably be a good idea. Um, any suggestions?"

"I got one." Alfred's double raised his hand. "How about nicknames? I'll be 'Al,' and the other me can stay 'Alfred.' My Matthew can be 'Matt' and the other one can be 'Mattie' or just 'Matthew.' And…uh…" His gaze landed on Arthur, uncertain.

Both Arthurs raised their eyebrows, realizing where he was taking this. _"I am _not_ being 'Artie'!"_ They paused, realizing they'd spoken at the same time.

Alfred and _Al_ exchanged glances. They both had the same thought in mind. _Here we go again_.

"_Well, _I'm_ certainly not being 'Artie'!"_ Their eyes widened. _"Stop talking at the same as time as me! Stop it! You wanker!"_

Alfred couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

"_What are you laughing at?"_

Al smiled, nodding in Alfred's direction. "This has happened to us before. I think it's a double thing."

"_Well, how do you stop it?"_ They were both getting steadily more irritated.

Alfred offered. "Well, one of you could try to swallow your pride and volunteer to be 'Artie.'"

Neither answered, and they ended up in a vicious glaring contest. They looking ready to punch the other, all over a _nickname_. Wow, Alfred had known they were all stressed out, but…this was ridiculous. _Come on, guys. Just stop it. Please._ He wanted to plead with them out loud, but he didn't want their anger directed at him. Surprisingly, one of them finally conceded: the other Arthur.

"All right. Fine. _I'll_ be 'Artie.'" The pair glanced at one another, obviously relieved they hadn't spoken at the same time again.

With that settled, they all decided to get dinner and then sit down to discuss their game plan. They would need to warn the rest of the nations, who were now assembling in London for the world meeting. That was a priority. After everyone was informed and on the lookout for Russia, then they could execute some sort of plan to take him down again. And of course, find the other members of their team that were still missing in action….

_Al _and _Artie_ left to go get dinner, leaving _Matt, Mattie, Arthur, _and himself in the room. Matt and Arthur seemed to take Alfred's silent hint, and they excused themselves a few minutes later for various reasons, leaving Alfred alone with his solemn and stoic brother. Mattie hadn't moved since he sat down.

Alfred took a chair from the table and dragged it across the floor, placing it right in front of his silent brother and sinking into it. Mattie didn't acknowledge his presence. He swallowed, trying to ignore the dryness in his throat and the tears prickling his eyelids. "Mattie…?"

"Hm?" It was the first sound he heard emerge from his brother's lips, and frankly, he was shocked at how calm Matthew sounded.

"Um…talk to me?"

"About what, Alfred?" Matthew's voice was oddly cold, and he still hadn't looked away from the window.

"W-what do you mean 'about what,' Mattie? What kind of question is that? You know what!"

Matthew looked at him, and it sent chills down Alfred's spine. "Did you think that, just maybe, I wouldn't want to talk about it? I didn't want to discuss it with the other you. I didn't want to discuss it with the other me. I didn't want to discuss it with Arthur. And I certainly don't want to discuss it with you." The brief moment of eye contact ended, and Mattie's eyes trailed back to the window again.

Alfred felt cold. It was like his brother had just…shut down. And he realized that was probably exactly what had happened. Mattie had been traumatized, and he'd suppressed his emotions as a result to stop himself from breaking down. Alfred almost felt that this was worse than an emotional breakdown. What if Mattie stayed like this? What if he never returned to his normal self?

Before he could stop his body, he was hugging Matthew tightly. Mattie went stiff in his arms, flinching at the contact, and Alfred felt his tears break free. His brother didn't want to be touched. His brother was afraid of being touched. But he was determined to get his point across. "Mattie…listen to me. I'm _here_ for you. I am. I promise. And I don't care whether you want to scream at me or hit me or swear at me until your voice is hoarse. I don't care whether you want to cry into my shoulder for hours or punch me until I'm a bloody mess. I _don't care_, Mattie. I just want you to_ talk _to me."

The response was so quiet that he almost missed it. "I will. When I'm ready."

He embraced his brother harder. "That's all I ask, Mattie. That's all I ask."

* * *

><p>Ludwig held the door open for Feliciano, who stepped gracefully out into the sunny Parisian day. He paid the cabby and trailed behind the shorter man, the edges of Feliciano's dark coat brushing his leg as it billowed in the air with each smooth step. Even after hours and hours, the guilt was still eating away at him. His own Feliciano would have woken up to find them gone and to find someone left to virtually babysit him. He would be furious. And upset. Really upset. Ludwig hated, beyond everything else in the world, making his lover cry. But he was sure he would hate his Feliciano being hurt because of him even more. That would be unforgivable. So he would take the crying, and he would deal with it. Even if Feliciano hated him in the end. As long as he was safe.<p>

"According to my sources, this world's England checked into this hotel the other day for a room with multiple beds. He hasn't checked out yet, so hopefully that means they're here. I think it's safe to assume that since he's in Paris and not in London for the world meeting that that means he's met up with someone from our group." Feliciano craned his neck and scanned the tall hotel building before heading toward the door. Ludwig followed him. This Feliciano's resourcefulness was astounding, and Ludwig realized—with a sickening feeling in his gut—that this was why he had been a such a good assassin for Russia.

The door was opened for them when they entered, and he heard Feliciano scoff, mumbling something about "posh hotels" and "obviousness." Ludwig had to admit he was right. If this world's England _had_ met up with someone from their group, then why would they use such a nice hotel? It didn't quite make sense. Feliciano marched to the elevator and pushed the button, waiting. Ludwig loitered in front of the elevator doors, turning around slowly when he heard the ding.

Arthur and Matthew were inside, chatting.

"Ah…" He was speechless. Even Feliciano seemed surprised.

The pair finally noticed their presence. Arthur gaped. "Ludwig?"

"Arthur?" Wait, was it _this_ world's Arthur or _their_ Arthur? And which Matthew was it again?

The pair exited the elevator, and Matthew's eyes landed on Feliciano, suspicious. "What's going on?"

"Ah, yes. Remember, we brought the _other_ Feliciano with us. Yours?"

"Oh, right. _That's_ where you went."

Feliciano nodded, and it clicked for Ludwig. _Their_ Arthur and the _other_ Matthew.

"Ludwig, it's good to see you. Where did you end up? And…" He looked around, perplexed. "Where _our_ Feliciano?"

"We left him in Germany with someone to look after him." Feliciano answered simply. "He was too much of a liability."

Arthur's lips parted, but no sound came out. He eyed Ludwig with something akin to disbelief and accusation mixed together, and Ludwig was unable to meet his glare. He was already guilty enough, damn it! He didn't need this too.

"Is anyone else here with you?" Feliciano asked.

Arthur breathed in loudly. "Everyone's here. Both Americas. Both Canadas. The other me. A lot has happened in the last couple days."

"A lot being…?" Feliciano raised an eyebrow, and Ludwig could see the cogs turning in his head, his practiced mind going through every possibility.

Arthur frowned. "Let's take a walk. We'll explain everything."

* * *

><p>They stood outside the restaurant, waiting for their order to be filled. Arthur—because he'd damned if he'd call <em>himself<em> Artie—leaned against the outer wall, breathing in the delicious smells of various foods wafting through the door. Alfred—or _Al, _though he was hesitant to call his own lover that—sat in a chair next to one of the outdoor tables, chin resting on his hands. They hadn't really spoken the entire way, and Arthur was digging around in his brain for something to say.

Without warning, Alfred was on him, pulling him into a intense kiss. Arthur kissed him back, wrapping his arms around his lover's neck. He had never been one for public displays of affection, but in this situation, he didn't particularly care. He'd been locked away, beaten, and tortured for the past two weeks, and nearly every moment had been spent thinking of Alfred. He'd wondered what Alfred would do if he'd been killed there, if his body was found dumped somewhere in the woods, or if he just vanished from the face of the Earth, never to be found. He'd wondered if Alfred would even still want him after he'd helped do this.

But apparently the recent events that threatened the Earth meant nothing to his Alfred. He kissed Arthur with all the passion he had, the same way he'd been kissing him for years. And Arthur tried to return that passion, the same way he always had. But something was wrong. They were kissing deeply, tongues fighting, hands roaming. It should have ignited that fire in his heart that it always did, started that flutter in his chest that would eventually dissolve into smoldering love and lust. But it didn't. Arthur's body felt warm. It was responding to Alfred's advances. But something…something was missing.

He kissed harder, trying to jumpstart that excitement in his heart. Alfred was obviously feeling it. His eyes were closed, his expression dreamy and content. Arthur knew that if those blue eyes opened, they would be on fire. But he felt…cold, almost. There was a damp emptiness in his chest instead of the heat that he'd gotten to used to. What was going on here? Just days ago, he'd been longing for Alfred's touch, dreaming of his lover's face, his lips, his loving eyes. So what had gone wrong? He shouldn't feel this way. He shouldn't feel this…this empty.

Alfred pulled away, his eyes fluttering open in confusion. Arthur realized he'd completely stopped responding. "Arthur…are you okay?"

"I…" No, he was most definitely not okay. Something was very wrong here. "Yes, I'm fine. I just…"

Alfred's gaze softened. "You're tired and stressed. I know. I'm sorry. That was stupid of me to just make a move on you here." He pulled Arthur close to him.

The embrace should have melted Arthur. It had many times in the past. But that hard, lingering cold didn't dissipate, and Arthur found himself becoming more and more scared by the second. He'd loved Alfred for so long, and every time he'd seen the man move from one person to another to another, he'd hoped to God the next person would be him. And then it finally was, and he'd never been more elated in his life.

"I…I'm sure I'll be fine after a few days of rest." He lied through his teeth. This was not something that would be fine. At all. Ever.

Alfred kept up his kind smile and leaned down, planting a chaste kiss on Arthur's lips. "I know you will." He kissed his cheek. "Now, I'll go grab our food. It should be ready now." He released Arthur from his hold and slipped back through the doorway into the restaurant, leaving Arthur alone outside on the patio, the busy main street around the corner his only company.

Arthur stood there listlessly, unsure of what to make of this development. "What's wrong with me?" He asked to no one. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>So, was it pretty clear who was who in this chapter? I tried to make it as clear as possible.

**Next Chapter: **The group heads to London to warn the other nations, only to end up in a gunfight with Yao's men and for Arthur to end up in Ivan's hands.


	15. A Message in a Bottle

**Dro: **I'm not going to lie. I wrote this chapter, and I still think it's gruesome. So, warning even in my author note: _gruesome chapter is gruesome!_ Be warned! But still, please **review**!

**Chapter Summary: **The gang arrives in London, only to find themselves one step behind Russia and China. Arthur ends up in Ivan's hands in an attempt to save Matthew, and he pays the price for it.

**Warnings: **_Violence_ _(like, really bad in this chapter; though the actual act I'm referring to is off screen, the implications and result are quite disturbing)_; Language; Nudity

**Disclaimer: **I really don't think you'd want me owning APH, especially after what I do to England in this chapter.

**Note: **In case anyone is still confused:

_Artie_ : Parallel England

_Al _: Parallel America

_Matt _: Parallel Canada

_Alfred _: Canon world America

_Arthur_: Canon world England

_Mattie/Matthew_ : Canon world Canada

**For example,** this chapter starts with _Arthur_, which means it's Canon World Arthur. The second half of this chapter is from _Al's_ POV. Al, of course, being _Parallel_ America.

(If I don't use those names explicitly, look for other cues, such as "the _other_ so-and-so", "_this_ so-and-so", etc.)

* * *

><p>Arthur tapped his fingers impatiently on the seat and scanned the area again. Feliciano—ever composed and stoic—sat with his legs and arms crossed, staring silently out the plane window. Ludwig sat next to him, eyes trained absently on the ceiling. Alfred had his eyes closed, headphones in his ears, but Arthur knew that the man wasn't asleep. He was just attempting to drown out reality. Matthew sat next to the window, seemingly focusing on nothing. Arthur imagined he was lost somewhere inside his own head. It was how he'd been since they'd helped him escape. He rarely spoke, rarely moved unless prompted to…Arthur hoped to God he'd recover from this, but he wouldn't hold out too much hope, not when this situation could easily get worse at any time.<p>

The other him—_Artie_ now, funnily enough—sat next to the other Alfred—it felt weird to just call him _Al_. They were holding hands, their fingers interlaced. Arthur eyed his own Alfred, whose arms were crossed, and felt a slight pang in his chest. He ignored it. It was senseless to be _jealous_ of the other them. That was just foolish. He and Alfred shared the same love, the same relationship. Alfred was just stressed out and needed some time to relax. It wasn't that he loved Arthur any less than _Al_ loved _Artie_. He shook his head. Maybe he should have drowned out the world with music too. Although he would have much preferred to drown it out with alcohol.

Thirty minutes later, they landed on the same runway that he had with Al only days before. _Matt_ filed out first, followed by the _other_ them, Feliciano and Ludwig, and finally, himself, Alfred, and Matthew. Matthew said nothing and shrugged off any attempt at aid, and he and Alfred exchanged glances. This was going to be a long, slow healing process, they both knew. If Matthew healed at all. In another twenty minutes, they found themselves in front of the conference center, and they all entered quickly. Artie told them that there was a meeting scheduled to start in five minutes, and hopefully it was still on despite the missing nations.

It was. The shock in the room was nearly tangible, all the nations staring, stunned, at the three sets of doubles and, of course, the long-missing Italy. Arthur and Alfred locked the conference room doors—just in case—and sat back, letting their doubles do the talking. The other him spoke quickly, explaining that Yao had resurrected Ivan. Arthur noted that he conveniently left out any description of the role he had played in the resurrection, as well as any information about Matthew's rape (a point which he agreed with). Many of the nations were skeptical, but several seemed to realize the gravity of the situation and started discussing strategies to fight back at Ivan.

Vash called the room to order as the noise level got out of hand. "All right, listen up. We've got a serious problem on our hands, so let's keep calm and think this out. We don't want a repeat of four years ago. We need to crush this new threat quickly and efficiently."

"And how should we go about that?" Kiku fidgeted in his seat, obviously anxious. Arthur remembered what Alfred had told him about Japan being bombarded by China to the point of near total destruction.

"Well, first off," Denmark answered, "we need to find the guy. Or at least where he's going. He can still be killed, right? So, if we manage to cut him off before he has a chance to actually regain any followers or build up a weapons store, we should be able to beat him pretty easily."

Vash nodded in agreement. "I agree. This is an incredibly time sensitive operation. We need to construct a plan, right here, right now, and execute it as soon as possible." He glanced at Netherlands, who was staring intently out the window, and started to speak to him but paused when the man raised a finger, signaling for him to wait.

"What's wrong?" Artie asked him.

He turned toward them, looking petrified. "I don't think finding him will be a problem. He just walked right through the door."

The room exploded into panic. It took them several seconds to calm everyone back down. Lithuania looked like he was having a heart attack. Poland didn't look much better. All the Nordics had pulled out guns, and Netherlands unbuttoned his suit jacket, revealing he had least four handguns on him. Arthur was packing two of his own, as was everyone else from their group. Except Feliciano, who probably had an entire arsenal attached to his body.

They waited, all guns trained at the door. They were expecting Ivan to just waltz right into the room, which seemed to be his style, especially when he had some sort of underlying plot. Arthur licked his lips, trying to keep his breathing steady. This could either end very well or very, very badly. He could only hope the former was the case. But he had the sinking feeling that resurrection hadn't made this Russia any dumber. And if he was as smart as Arthur had been told he was, then they were in some serious trouble.

A grim silence filled the room, every occupant armed and ready. Arthur glanced at Matthew, who he expected to looked terrified, and he was surprised to find a look of sheer ferocity contorting the usually kind and calm boy's face. Matthew's eyes gleamed with fury, and Arthur could honestly say that he was afraid of this show of emotion, of what it could possibly do.

Something clinked around in the lock of the door until it unlocked. The doorknob turned. Everyone tensed. The door, brand new from its recent construction, didn't make a sound as it turned, revealing a smug looking Yao standing on the other side. He marched into the room like he ruled the world, eying all the nations carefully, scrutinizing them. For a moment, he paused, eying the two Alfreds with suspicion and surprise. But he recovered almost instantly and tried to hide his shock, the sly smile returning to his lips.

"Good afternoon, everyone."

Artie growled. "The hell do you want, Yao?" His finger tightened on the trigger of his gun.

Yao raised an eyebrow. "I just wanted to give you a message. As I'm sure you've all heard by now, Ivan has returned, and he intends to build a new coalition of states. If anyone would like to join up of their own free will, they may do so now. And only now. He's giving you twenty four hours. Make your decisions." He turned around. "And I advise you to make the right one. Ivan is not very tolerant right now, and he is perfectly willing to end you all here if you do not comply with his wishes. So tread carefully, my friends, or you may find yourself in a very dire situation." He made to leave.

A shot rang out, the bullet tearing through the wood of the door right next to Yao's head. Artie had fired it. He strode toward Yao, grabbed him, and forced the man around, shoving the gun underneath his chin. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right here."

Yao smiled slyly. "Because if you do, my snipers will kill your precious Alfred."

Glass exploded, and Al went down, clutching his leg as it burst into a spray of blood. Artie release his grip on Yao, who pushed him away, sending him sprawling against the conference table. Three of Yao's guards burst into the room, and one of them went for Matthew. Arthur pushed his boy out of the way, and the guard grabbing him instead. Yao glared him, making a split second decision.

"Take him instead. Let's go." He retreated, and the guards followed him, dragging Arthur away. He screamed for help, but Alfred's advances were cut off by several more sniper shots. Before he could register what was happening, he was bound and gagged and being carried into a elevator. He struggled, trying desperately to break free from their grasp, but they held him tightly. Alfred had just emerged from the room when the elevator doors closed, and Arthur cried out through the gag. His pulse was racing. He was sure they were going to kill him. There was no point in keeping him alive. Why had they even bothered to take him in the first place? Granted, they had been going for Matthew, but there was no reason to use him as a replacement, was there?

They emerged in the basement level, and Arthur continued to struggle with them. Until he saw Russia. He sat on a metal table next to the door that must have led to the building's boiler room. He was whistling slowly, and Arthur recognized it as a Russian war tune. He felt his blood run cold. Ivan's frigid violet eyes landed on him, a pale eyebrow rising curiously.

"What is he doing here, Yao?"

Yao bowed his head. "My apologies. I attempted to reclaim the parallel Matthew as you instructed, but I failed. I am hoping the parallel Arthur makes a suitable replacement."

Ivan slipped off the table and waltzed over to him, gripping his hair tightly and forcing him to meet his eyes. He smirked. "I supposed he will do. I only intended to make an example." He grabbed Arthur's chin and squeezed it tightly. "You will do just fine for my message." Arthur caught the gleam of a knife moments before he was flung to the floor, his head striking the rough concrete. Dazed, he couldn't get his bearings, any by the time he'd recovered, Ivan was on him again. The knife sliced right through his shirt, and he writhed, trying to escape. His heart raced. _What is he doing? Oh God, he's going to rape me too!_ He kicked out, only for Ivan to slam his head back into the floor. Dazzling stars danced in his vision, and he went limp, unable to fight any longer.

Ivan's chilling breath brushed past his ear just as the tip of the knife was pressed in the skin of Arthur's bare break. "Do make sure you deliver my message promptly."

* * *

><p>The snipers had finally stopped their barrage. The remaining nations quickly exited the room, one by one. Al, his injured leg now wrapped in his lover's shirt, trained his eyes on the window, searching for any signs of movement. Seeing none, he slipped out of the room behind the rest of the nations. Just in time to watch Alfred punch a hole right through the wall. He was seething, his teeth bared, his eyes wide and wild. No one seemed to know how to calm him down, not even his own brother. And Artie was whispering to him softly, trying to soothe him, to no avail.<p>

"We have to get him back." Alfred growled. "Now. They could still be in the building. We have to find them before…" He clenched his eyes shut, pressing his head against his wall, no doubt imagining the heinous things that Ivan was probably doing to the other Arthur.

"But Russia could have men stationed all throughout the building." Netherlands pointed out. "We can't just go after him guns blazing. That's never going to work. They've already outsmarted us once today. I don't want a repeat of what just happened in that conference room."

Alfred made no reply, and he sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands. Al's heart went out to him. He knew he'd be in the same condition if it was his Arthur. In fact, he still felt apprehensive, still felt devastated even though it was a parallel double of his lover and not his own. It was _still_ Arthur, no matter which world he was from. He was just about to suggest a plan of action when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, revealing he had a text message.

'_South End Hospital. You'll find him there. And do head the message, by the way. Ivan is quite serious this time around._

_-Yao'_

Al felt cold. He was perplexed as to how Yao got his number, for one. And then, there was the contents of the message. Hospital. What had Ivan done to Arthur to put him in the hospital? He honestly wasn't sure he wanted to know, but if Arthur really was there, then they had to go get him. No…He surveyed the group assembled around him. They were in no condition for more shocks today, especially not his alternate self. He would have to handle this situation very carefully.

"Everyone, listen up." All eyes were on him. "I want you all to head to the airport. We need to find a safe location to use as base. I want you all to figure one out. We were sitting ducks here because the meeting was so open. We're going to need to be highly secretive from now on, and we need to proceed carefully. So go grab your things—in groups, please—and assemble back at the airport. I want to be out of London by tonight."

Artie eyed him suspiciously. "Why are talking like you're not coming with us?"

"I'll meet up with you later. I'm going to grab us some more weapons."

Artie frowned. "We have enough weapons. And you're injured. You should—"

Al pulled at the strings he could find. "Well, seeing as we just got the crap beat out of us by a couple of snipers, apparently not. I'll meet up with you by 7:00 PM, okay? I promise. And I'll stop by the hospital on the way and get my leg checked out." He leaned in and kissed his lover on the cheek. "Just keep everyone calm, Arthur." He whispered.

He could tell his lover still didn't buy his excuse, but Artie let him go anyway. He backed down the hallway and quickly searched for the exit, hailing a cab and ordering it to take it him to the given hospital. It could easily be a trap, a ploy, but he had no choice. The parallels had already been through so much, all because of his world's Yao, and now…Russia. He needed to nip this in the bud. Before Ivan really got back on his feet. Before the world started to crumble until his cruelty again.

He rushed into the hospital, claiming to need urgent treatment. After—begrudgingly—allowing them to work on his leg for a few hours, he asked if Arthur was there. The nurse almost didn't let him through, but he pleaded with her, claiming to be his life partner. She finally relented and gave him the room number. He wasn't in the ICU (thankfully), but according to a nurse he met in the doorway to the room, he was in pretty bad condition. Slowly, he walked toward the curtain that blocked Arthur off from the rest of the world. He was expecting a lot of things. To find him mutilated beyond recognition. To find him missing limbs.

What he was not expecting to find was Arthur awake.

Tired green eyes languidly slid over to him. "You…not my Alfred."

Al shook his head. "No, the other one. I came to get you."

"How'd you know I was here?" His voice was dead and dull, and Al swallowed, wondering just what the hell Ivan had done to him. He had some ideas, and he hoped to God he was wrong.

"Yao sent me a message."

Arthur chuckled dryly under his breath, smiling bitterly. "Funny. Ivan sent you one too."

"What?" Al didn't know what he was getting at.

Without warning, Arthur climbed out of the bed and tore off the hospital-issued gown, leaving himself completely nude save for a massive amount of gauze that wrapped around his torso, covering his entire back. Al's mouth hung open, failing to allow any words to emerge. Arthur began unraveling the gauze, bit by bit, slow revealing a bloody mess of wounds on his back. As more of the tortured skin was revealed, Al, sickened, realized it wasn't just random wounds. Ivan had _written_ something into Arthur's back, carved a message into Arthur's skin.

As the last of the gauze fell away, Al thought he was going to throw up. Scrawled into Arthur's back in wide, angry, open cuts was a massive hammer and sickle surrounded by several Russian sentences. And as much as he hated to admit, Al could read Russian perfectly.

"So, what does it say?" Arthur asked him coldly.

Al licked his dry lips, struggling to find words. "It…It says…It says 'No longer is this a game, and no longer are there pawns and kings. Now, there is only you and me and death. Remember well, America, that I was once the shepherd who would herald a new age for you poor little lambs. But you have defied me for the last time. And now I will no longer offer you solace. Now I will be the shepherd that leads you to the slaughter. And I will leave no one safe. Not in this world or the other.'"

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>I never realized Ivan was so poetic. Huh...You know, there's a lot of _Fridge Horror_ in this chapter. Don't know what that is? Go to TV Tropes. Love that place. There probably ten tons of pages just on Hetalia.

**Next Chapter: **A chapter solely consisting of _Al's_ POV, wherein he contemplates just about everything that's happened so far, including Arthur's new injuries, Artie's sudden coldness, and their odds of beating Russia before he screws up the world again. There's also a restaurant involved. And a phone call.


	16. As the Looking Glass Cracks

**Dro: **Wooh, another chapter. Maybe FF won't have another error that makes it randomly inaccessible after several hours. -twitch- Anyway, have at it! It's not nearly as violent as the last chapter.

**Chapter Summary: **Al struggles to cope with everything that's happened so far. 

**Warnings: **Past Violence; Language

**Disclaimer: **Too sleepy to think of something witty today. Just pretend I made something clever up.

* * *

><p>The doctors had been horrified at Arthur's insistence to leave, but they had eventually let him go. Al watched him the entire time as they redressed his wounds, despite the nurse's attempt to make him wait outside. Arthur didn't seem to care if Al saw him naked or not, not that that was surprising. They may have been parallel worlds, but their relationships were still the same. He was still Alfred and Arthur was still Arthur. He knew Arthur's body like the back of his hand. Every dip and curve of his muscles. Every freckle every scar. It was the same body. The same mind. The same soul. Just from a slightly different reality.<p>

Al waited for the nurse to leave before he approached Arthur again. He'd bought the poor man some clothing to wear from a nearby store. Arthur slipped his shirt on first, no doubt feeling self-conscious about his wounds. They were covered by gauze now, but Al knew what it was like to have a massive wound mar his body. He'd experienced a nuclear strike, after all. It had made him feel weak and vulnerable. He had felt the incessant need to cover the wounds with everything possible, to hide them from every speck of light.

"Are you going to be okay?" He finally asked. He already knew what Arthur's answer would be. He knew Arthur far too well.

"That has absolutely no bearings on the situation. Whether I'm okay or not, I'm still going to fight."

And, of course, he'd hit the nail on the head. _Oh, Arthur, you never change, do you?_ "Just because we need you to fight doesn't mean you can't take some time to recover first."

"Last I checked, we didn't have much time."

Al shook his head. "Arthur, the last thing we need is for you to fall apart in the middle of this battle. If you need some time, _take it_. End of discussion."

Weary green eyes glared at him. "_If_ I feel the need to, I _may_ sit some of this fight out. _Possibly_."

Al smiled inwardly and shook his head again. "That's all I ask of you."

Arthur stood in front of the mirror, checking his clothing and making sure his bandages weren't visible. There was one on his head too, where, Al had learned, Ivan had repeatedly slammed his head into the floor, but that was one injury that looked _normal_. Al hadn't even bothered to suggest that Arthur let someone else see the message on his back. It was out of the question. There'd been enough trauma already. The last thing Arthur needed now was for his friends and allies to look at him with horror and disgust. Not aimed at him, of course, but they would be looking _at_ him all the same.

The only problem Al had with this idea of Arthur hiding his wounds was how he would hide the pain. His back was practically in shreds. If would hurt to receive a hug—as Al knew Alfred would immediately do upon seeing him—to lay down and sleep, to stretch and bend over and fight. And once it started healing, if Arthur moved too much, he would reopen his cuts. He knew Arthur was probably thinking over these same things. The man's eyes were distant and glazed. Al figured he needed a distraction.

"Are you hungry?"

Arthur groaned under his breath. "Slightly."

"There's a restaurant just down the street." He checked the time. He still had about forty-five minutes before he'd told his own lover he'd return. "We can grab something quick."

Arthur nodded absently. "Sure."

They walked to the restaurant, Al sticking close to Arthur. Arthur didn't seem to mind the proximity, and Al could see the thinly veiled anxiety on the man's face. He was probably going to have nightmares about this incident for years. Al wished there was someway he could comfort this Arthur, but he figured he would have to leave it to his alternate self. He'd already made the mistake of believing this man was his own Arthur once. He blushed at the memory of making out with him on the plane. He didn't want to cross that line again, not with something as emotionally confusing as parallel doubles.

"By the way," Arthur started, "how's your leg?" He eyed the injured limb. Al's gait had a slight limp to it.

He shrugged. "It's not too bad." That was a lie. Even with the pain medication, his leg was still throbbing.

Arthur caught him red-handed. "And here you are talking about me taking time to recover. You try to fight with that leg and you'll up dying from something stupid like falling down stairs."

Al laughed dryly. "Yeah. Probably."

They ate well. Arthur picked a lot at his food, but he managed to get a decent amount in him, and that satisfied Al. Arthur needed his strength, especially now. Their meal was mostly silent, with Al watching Arthur's reactions. His moods seemed to be shifting wildly. One moment he looked almost scared. The next he was calm again. _He's replaying it in his mind. What Ivan did to him. _Al knew that feeling well. How many times had he watched the D.C. explode now? He'd lost count after about the hundredth night he'd woken up screaming in terror, back when he'd still been burned and blinded by the initial blast. It had taken a whole team of doctors and surgeons working day and night to save his life. He shook his head, refusing to replay that scene again.

He jumped as a loud ringing filled the air. Then he realized it was his cell phone. He pulled it from his pocket. It was his own Arthur calling. He tapped the screen and held it to his ear, Arthur eying him with interest. "Alfred, where are you?"

He smirked. "I'm Al, remember, _Artie?_"

He could picture the scowl in his mind. "Yes. Whatever. Anyway, answer my question. Where are you?"

"Eating dinner. I'll be back by 7:00, just like I said."

"Eating _dinner_? What, at a restaurant? With _this_ going on? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Well, there was little point in keeping up the weapons ruse anymore. "Arthur needed it."

"Well, wh— Wait, what did you say? Arthur? You mean the other me? He's _there_?"

"Yeah…About that. I kind of lied to you about the weapons thing."

"Well, I figured that, but I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what you were actually up to."

He sighed. "Yao sent me a message telling me where Ivan had dropped off Arthur."

"And you thought it was fine to go by _yourself_? It could have been a trap, you git!"

"I know that. But it wasn't."

Artie's voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. "Is…Is he okay?"

Al bit his lip. "To a degree."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means he'll recover. Look, we'll be at the airport by 7:00, okay? Just tell everyone that Arthur is alive and well."

"…Alfred, what did Ivan do to him?"

Al knew very well that that information was not his to give out. "It's not my place to say. And I'm leaving it at that. Just tell the other me that his Arthur is okay, and we'll be there soon."

Artie sighed deeply into the receiver. "Very well. I'll see you later then?"

"Yeah."

"Okay….love you."

Al's heart skipped, and he smiled bitterly. "I love you too, Arthur. I really do."

"I know. Goodbye."

"Bye." He sat his phone on the table and pushed the end call button.

Arthur was staring at him with interest. "Trouble in paradise?" He rolled his eyes.

Al shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Isn't there always?"

"Seems like it nowadays."

* * *

><p>The trip to the airport was, thankfully, uneventful. Al helped Arthur out of the cab and guided him through the crowd toward the private terminal where his plane was waiting. He'd put his men on call so they'd be ready at all times. Arthur didn't seem to mind having his hand held, and Al peered back at him several times, watching those unfocused green eyes with worry. Arthur's pain medication had started to wear off about twenty minutes ago, and he'd taken some of the pills that had been given to him at the hospital. They had apparently started to take effect.<p>

He rounded the corner and caught sight of the group of nations standing in the distance, all of them obviously nervous. It was Artie that caught sight of them first. He rushed over to them and nearly barreled into Al, who released Arthur's hand to embrace his lover back. It was odd for his own Arthur to show this much public affection, and there was a feeling tickling his brain that something wasn't quite right. But he brushed it away. Nothing was quite right at this point. It only made sense that their emotions would be screwed to hell too.

Alfred almost knocked Arthur over at the pace he was running, and before Al could stop him, he was hugging his lover tightly. Al pushed away Artie and wrenched Alfred away from Arthur, who was now whimpering.

"Whoa! Hold it! He's injured!" He chided his double.

Alfred's eyes went wide, and he stared at Arthur. "Oh…I…Holy shit, Arthur! I'm so sorry!"

Arthur grumbled. "S'alright, Alfred. S'alright."

"Uh…what's wrong with him?" Alfred glared at him accusingly.

Al rolled his eyes dismissively. "He's on pain meds. He was in the hospital."

"Wait, you took him to the hospital or…" Artie asked hesitantly.

"No, that's where Ivan and Yao left him."

Alfred looked suspicious. "Why would they take him the hospital after hurting him?"

_So we would find him and "get the message." _He thought sourly. But all he could without revealing the extent of Arthur's humiliation was shrug. "No idea."

Alfred and Artie exchanged glances, and Al knew he'd be facing a lot more questioning later. But, thankfully, for now they just met back up with the rest of the group, Alfred guiding a drowsy Arthur the rest of the way. Apparently, the group had decided to go to Germany, much to the chagrin of Feliciano and Ludwig, who were afraid that the other Italy would find out and try to meet up with them (Ludwig more so than Feliciano, who seemed to think his parallel self was a complete idiot). But according to logic, Ivan would no doubt try to reclaim his homeland, and it was better for them to be right on his tail than too far behind. If they allowed him to regain control of Russia, they would be in serious trouble. So Germany it was.

* * *

><p>They were half an hour from their descent into the airport. The entire trip had been almost totally silent, most of the nations still reeling from the revelation that their defeated enemy was back and ready for revenge. Al stared out the window, not looking at anything particular in the night sky but letting his thoughts consume him. There was so much he needed to ask, so much he still needed to know. He still didn't even know <em>how<em> Russia had come back to life. He hadn't had the time to really ask Artie about it, an he got the distinct impression that his lover didn't want him to know. He glanced at their interlocked hands. It was supposed to be a sign of affection, but something about it felt…fake.

He was steadily getting more worried about his lover's behavior. Something just didn't seem right about him. He wondered if the torture Artie had endured had…had left some lasting damage. He hoped this odd coldness would fade over time and the fire of their relationship would rekindle, but he was nervous that some kind of irreparable damage had been done to his lover's mind. He wasn't sure he could take it if…if their relationship…He pressed his head against the window. He _loved_ his Arthur, loved him more than he'd ever loved anyone. Matt was his brother, and he had an unbreakable bond with him (one that had strengthened over the last three years as they had repaired their relationship after…), but his relationship with Arthur was something else.

He quickly look over Artie's face and followed his line of sight. He was staring at Alfred. He broke his gaze. What had happened between them that he didn't know about? There was obviously _something_ that was different. Whatever had happened when they'd escaped from Yao's based had drastically changed them and their relationship. Alfred and Artie had been good friends _before_, sure, but now there was…something else there. Al didn't want to admit that it might be romantic, but he couldn't think of too many other options. Had some kind of affair developed between them in the mere _day or two_ they'd been alone together? It seemed so unlikely. Something else had to be at work here. But what?

He was determined to find out the answer. He didn't care how hard he had to prod Artie or Alfred. He _would_ find out just what the hell was going on here. He groaned inwardly. He wanted to beat his head against the window. He really did. This was all too much. He had Russia to worry about. He had the world to worry about. And now he had his lover to worry about. What next? What could possibly happen next?

It was about the time he saw Berlin on fire that he realized he really hadn't wanted to know the answer to that.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Ominous ending is ominous.

**Next Chapter: **The nations are rushed to a safe location by the German authorities, Ludwig's world is shattered by Gilbert's news, and Artie struggles to keep it together as he constantly blames himself for everything that's happening.


	17. The Trial of Lot

**Dro: **Oi, lazies! What happened to my ecstatic reviews for Labyrinth? They've been _slowly_ trickling in for Chapter 3. I think I've only gotten half the reviews that I got for each of the first two chapters so far. -chastises lazy peoples- Don't do that to me now. Sharp drops in reviews scare me, guys! Makes me think I'm doing something wrong. ;_; **Anyway**, now that I'm done complaining for the day, onto this story!

**Chapter Summary: **The nations arrive amidst the chaos of Berlin. Ludwig receives devastating news. And Arthur struggles to keep himself together as the guilt keeps building up.

**Warnings: **Violence; Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro still doesn't own APH. Though I do own copies of the DVDs for season 1 and 2, the first 2 graphic novels, and the Art Stella. As if that counts for anything...

* * *

><p>It was chaos. They'd had to change airports at the last second, and the only reason they'd been able to land at all was because they were "government officials." As they quickly learned from the German authorities who escorted them to a safe location near the edge of Berlin, <em>someone<em> had detonated several massive bombs at strategic points across the city. Ludwig was baffled as to how Russia was moving so quickly. How could he possibly have had time to set this all up already? As they sat in a large, bare-walled room, silent and brooding, Ludwig found his heart beating rapidly.

He'd had Feliciano sent here to Berlin. At his insistence. The other Feliciano had made it clear that his other self would be much safer far away from any urban areas. Just in case. But he hadn't listened. And now this had happened. What if Feliciano had been hurt? Worse? So many government buildings had been destroyed in the explosions. What if Feliciano had been in one of them? He would never forgive himself if that had happened. Never.

"You need to stop worrying so much." Feliciano's calm, cool voice floating into his ear with a whisper. "If you let yourself become distressed, you will be unable to help him if such a situation arises. There is no point in panicking over the unknown, Ludwig. So subdue your feelings for now. We need you level-headed."

Ludwig wanted to punch him, but he restrained himself. Despite Feliciano's apparent lack of empathy for anyone, he was right. Ludwig needed to stay composed if he was to be able to help his friends, to help his own Feliciano. There was no denying that. But even straight logic couldn't calm his heart completely. It still ached with every beat, and he imagined it would for a while. Until he made sure that Feliciano was all right.

"I need to talk to him." He glanced at the crowd in the room. "Alone." He muttered.

Feliciano didn't even look his direction. "There's a pay phone around the corner."

Ludwig didn't hesitate. He marched out the room and rushed down the hallway, nearly tearing the phone right off the wall. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out some spare change, shoving it quickly into the machine. He pulled the mobile phone number out of his memory, praying he remembered it correctly. It started ringing. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the wall, his entire body restless.

"_You've reached Gilbert Beilschmidt."_ A low, automated-sounding voice answered in German.

"Fuck! Gilbert, pick up the goddamned phone!"

"This is Gilbert, stupid." The weary voice replied.

"…Oh." He could have sworn that… "Are you all right? You sound…"

"Like I nearly got blown up? Well, yeah. That's because I did."

Ludwig's pulse quickened. "Are you injured?"

"Eh, I'm…okay. A few broken bones. Some burns. Bruising. I'll live."

"And Feliciano?" He was afraid to ask.

Gilbert said nothing for several seconds. "I don't know." He whispered.

Ludwig felt like he was falling. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said, West. I don't know where Feli is. We were in the same building, just a few blocks down from one of the bombs. He was in a different room though. When the bomb went off, I was sent flying. The building collapsed. And…I was knocked out." He sighed. "When I came to, I was outside in the street. _Gott_ knows how I got there. I just…West, I'm so sorry. You asked me to look after him, and I…I failed you."

Ludwig shook his head. "No. No, this isn't your fault. This is one man's fault, and it's not yours."

"Look, I've got everyone I know searching the building for him, okay? I'm sure they'll find him." He didn't even bother to say _alive_. "West, tell me the truth now. Is Russia back? This…was this an attack by Russia? It…It seems just like the first time, just like the original bombings that Russia tried to pass off as unrelated terrorists attacks…just…just before he launched the real assault. I…I don't want to believe it, but with all this talk about magic and shit…did Russia somehow come back?"

There was no point in lying. "Yes. Yao brought Russia back to life."

"…Fuck." He sounded exasperated. "So all that work…all that war and death…was for nothing?"

Ludwig bit his lip. Hard. "No, Gilbert. Four years ago was for _everything_. The world recovered from Russia's assault last time, and this time…this time we will _not_ let him get that far. Do you hear me? We _will_ stop him."

Gilbert sighed even harder. "Yeah, I hear you, West. I hear you." He could tell Gilbert didn't believe him. "The problem is, of course, _how _far he'll get before you do."

"We're going to take him down. Soon. I promise."

"You say that, West, and I want to believe you. But let me ask you this. Did you have any idea he was going to attack Berlin?"

Ludwig froze. No, they hadn't even known that Russia was going to Berlin, much less that he…he immediately understood Gilbert's point. Russia was too far ahead of them. The odds of him even still being here in Berlin were slim. He…he had _known_ they would figure out he was traveling back to his homeland, and he had set a trap for them. He would destroy their planned base of operations to set them back even further. Ludwig nearly slammed the phone down. That bastard. Even Ludwig couldn't deny it now. Russia was a tactical genius, and it was this quality that had made him so hard to defeat in the first place. The only reason they'd even beat him last time was from pure luck alone.

And now it sincerely looked like that luck had run out.

"Gilbert, are you in the hospital?"

"Clinic, actually. Hospitals are filled with people in need of intensive care only now. Everyone else has been directed to smaller facilities."

Well, at least Gilbert seemed to be on top of things here. "Okay. Can you tell me where? You're government agents took us to a safe house when we arrived. We can come get you."

"Ah, got it. Just send some of them here." He recited the address. "No point in you risking yourselves in this chaos."

"All right. I'll do that. See you soon, Gilbert."

"See you soon, brother."

Ludwig hung the receiver up and backed away until he hit the wall. He slid listlessly down the floor and stared at nothing. Feliciano was missing. He could be…he could be…They'd left him to protect him, and…He didn't bother trying to hold back the tears.

* * *

><p>Artie (as he had now begrudgingly conceded to calling himself) stared out the window, a ache in his chest. Would London be next after this? Russia was already the move again, already seeking to destroy everything they'd worked so hard to rebuild. It wasn't fair. It wasn't…it was all his fault. If he'd never helped Yao. If he'd never…if he'd never agreed to send Feliciano to the other world in the first place…There was no one to blame for this mess but himself. He'd heard the numbers on the news over and over. Thousands dead and thousands more missing. Major train stations, airports, shopping areas, government buildings…destroyed in seconds. And all those deaths were on his shoulders.<p>

A hand landed on his shoulder. He saw who it was out of the corner of his eye. Al stood next to him. The man nodded his head to the side, indicating for him to follow. He did so without speaking. He needed to get out of this room, away from the television blaring the devastating news over and over. He followed his lover down the hallway and into an empty room. This building was brand new, but it was so…empty. Al closed the door behind them and sat down on a stiff new couch, patting the cushion beside him. Artie sank onto it and leaned against Al's shoulder.

"You okay?" Al murmured.

"No." He answered honestly.

Al wrapped an arm around him and held him close. "We'll fix this, Arthur. I promise."

He only wished that his lover could have sincerely meant that. But even America didn't have the power to guarantee victory. "I want to believe that. I really do, Alfred. But…after everything that's happened so far…"

"Don't." Al cut him off. "Don't go all pessimistic on me now, Arthur. We are going to win this. Hands down. If we've beat him once, we can do it again. An that's all there is to it."

If only he knew how much Artie had really screwed up. He bet if he told his lover he was bound to another man that his tune would about face instantly. But he couldn't. He'd tried to tell Al at least twenty times already what was going on between him and Alfred, but he hadn't been able. It was too much. It was too devastating. He hadn't even fully processed it himself yet. He certainly wasn't ready to break the news to his lover. So he kept quiet.

They stayed like that for several minutes, Al holding him tightly, trying to comfort him with sweet nothings. It didn't work though, and eventually, Al gave up and sighed, picking up business again. "Hey, did you ever figure out how Yao revived Ivan without sacrificing Alfred?"

Artie stiffened. Oh, this again. "Um, no…I've been thinking about that for a while. He may have found a way to circumvent the need to Alfred. It's possible." Actually, it wasn't. The spell specifically required Alfred because Alfred had been Ivan's sole murderer. He had meant to kill Ivan, and he had. Which meant the _only_ suitable sacrifice was Alfred. In Alfred's case, on the other hand, the bullet that had killed him had been meant for _Artie_. Alfred had intercepted the shot. That meant there was no link between killer and killed. It hadn't been intentional. Which made Alfred's resurrection possible at the hands of any sacrifice. Had Ivan not been killed by Alfred like he was, and instead killed, say, by his mansion exploding, then Yao would have been able to use any old person to bring him back.

And it was this fact that had made Artie so much more sure that they'd never have to deal with Ivan again. He hadn't once imagined that Yao had enough drive to actually travel to the other world just to obtain the needed sacrifice. In fact, he had never thought Yao had any desire to resurrect Ivan at all.

Oh, how wrong he'd been.

"Damn." Al responded. "You would think since he went through all the trouble of getting the other me here that he wouldn't have had an alternate solution."

Artie shrugged. He was lying to his lover. He was lying through his teeth. "Magic is tricky that way. He may have discovered the alternative after he'd already lured Alfred here."

Al sighed. "This is just…God damn it all."

"I'm sorry…"

Al perked up. "What?" He frowned. "Hey, you're not blaming yourself, are you?" Artie refused to look at him until Al enveloped him in a tight embrace. "Come on, Arthur. You know better than that. This is Yao's fault. Ivan's fault. Not yours."

_And yet here I am lying to you even while you trust me so much._ "I…I understand that, but…I still feel so responsible."

"I know. I felt responsible, too, when I failed to stop Ivan from bombing the States. I…thought I'd never forgive myself for failing my people that way. But it gets better, Arthur. I promise. We're going to beat Ivan. We're going to fix all the damage he's done. And then you'll see what I mean."

Arthur wasn't so sure.

* * *

><p>They all stood gathered in a half circle around a battered Gilbert. He'd just arrived with a group of guards around him, all of whom looked incredibly spooked and on edge. Alfred couldn't blame them. They had a reason to be. He flicked his eyes over to the hallway that the other him and Artie had disappeared down earlier, waiting for them to return. Artie had brooding throughout their entire stay, and it was really starting to bother him. This bombing had to be weighing heavily on the man's conscience. He could only hope his other self was reassuring Artie that it wasn't his fault.<p>

He glanced down at his own Arthur, who was wrapped in a blanket. Alfred had asked him several times what had happened to him, but Arthur refused to answer. He felt like he was about to fall apart now. First his brother and now his lover. Matthew was the only one who had refused to move from his seat when Gilbert had shown up. He still sat, legs crossed, forehead pressed against the window. It was like he wasn't even there, like his mind was somewhere out in deep space, floating further and further away from Earth. Alfred wished he would come back. He knew Mattie needed time, but…but he couldn't stand this. And now Arthur was following him down that path. The only difference was that Arthur was at least attempting to act like his normal self.

It was a weak illusion.

His green eyes were distant, as if he wasn't really seeing what was in front of him. Alfred couldn't help but wonder why no one would talk to him. These two…they were closer to him than anyone else he had ever met, and yet…and yet neither of them would come to him in their times of need. Why? What had he done wrong here? It had to be something about himself, right? Or maybe they were just so traumatized that they had lost their abilities to maintain their relationships and feelings for others. God, he hoped _that_ wasn't the case. He hoped it was his fault a thousand times over. Anything but _that_. He could stand them drifting away from _him_. But he couldn't stand knowing they'd suffered permanent emotional damage.

Gilbert cleared his throat, and Alfred dared to look away from Arthur to refocus his attention on the man. Ludwig stood closest to him, his face totally devoid of blood. Alfred was surprised the man hadn't fainted yet. When Ludwig had returned earlier, eyes red and puffy, and stammered out that Feliciano was missing…Alfred couldn't imagine what he was feeling at this point. Ludwig had tried so hard to keep him safe…and this was the result of that. What was wrong with this world? Why couldn't anyone keep their loved ones from harm? Why did everyone keep failing to protect the people they cared about?

"So…I've…got some news."

Alfred saw Arthur tense, and he himself froze, waiting for more news that was bound to be devastating. It wasn't what he'd been expecting, but it was either the most devastating news they'd heard all day or the most reassuring, depending on how you looked at it.

"We've searched the entire remains of the building that Feliciano and I were in." Gilbert took a deep breath. "We didn't find him. Not a trace."

"So he got away?" Ludwig asked hopefully.

Gilbert shook his head. "We honestly don't know. We're searching for him. I've got all the guys I can spare on it. But…I can say we honestly have no clue about his condition. He may have escaped from the building before it collapsed. But…there was so much carnage and chaos and confusion…he could have easily gotten swept away in the crowds. He could be anywhere in the city by now. But I swear we'll keep searching, West. If he's out there, we'll find him."

No one dared to ask the question out loud.

What if he wasn't?

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Wrote the next chapter today. Can't wait to post it.

**Next Chapter: **Poor Italy finds himself lost in Berlin with no where to go and no one to turn to, and he ends up confused and ambivalent over thoughts of Ludwig and his parallel self. Oh, and there's some fighting and some guns and some nasty stab wounds involved.


	18. A Wanderer in the Desert

**Dro: **For some reason, I really like this chapter. It's the first part in a major arc of this story. Yay! Anyway, have at it, peoples! I know you've all been waiting for some Italy action.

**Chapter Summary: **A lost Italy finds himself hurt and confused. It doesn't help that he's bent on proving that he's just as good as his parallel self. It also doesn't help that there are people out to get him.

**Warnings: **Violence; Depictions of serious injuries; Language

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, right. That is all.

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><p>He awoke in the same damp alley he'd fallen asleep in the night before. He sat up, stretching his sore, cramped limbs. He cringed at the pain in right arm. He was pretty sure he'd sprained it in a fall, back when he'd nearly gotten trampled in the crowd as they'd fled from the bombs. He wrapped his arms around his knees and pressed his face into his dirtied pants, trying to fight back the shivers. He was lost now. He had no clue where in Berlin he was, and he was afraid to ask for help after what had happened yesterday.<p>

He had found Gilbert unconscious on the second floor of the building they'd been in. The whole story had been threatening to collapse, and he'd hauled Gilbert down the steps and outside as fast as he could. He'd been trying to wake the man up for several minutes when a horde police officers had surrounded him. They'd taken one look at him and gone in for the kill.

He'd barely escaped being shot to death.

Fuck his other self! That stupid assassin was a wanted man, alive _or_ dead. He was a dangerous fugitive, and it just so happened that Feliciano shared his face. He was terrified of going out in public now. What if he got killed because of that bastard? He was already taking up all of Ludwig's attention. Now this? Now he was going to get Feliciano killed too? He _hated_ that bastard. This was all his fault. All of it. If he hadn't been out in their world to begin with, then none of this would have happened!

Finally, he managed to pull himself into a standing position. He cradled his arm against his chest and started walking slowly toward the end of the alley. He peered out, scanning the area. It was disturbingly silent, and he shuddered. It was like all life had been wiped out of the city. Just yesterday it had been flourishing with life and happiness, and now everyone had fled from fear and death. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

He still wasn't sure what had happened either. A terrorist attack? It had been a long time since he'd seen one this effective. Not to mention he felt like Gilbert and his new government had been so on top of things. They had really tight security all throughout the city, and everything seemed to be in order. Low crime. High productivity. The newly rebuilt Berlin had been a city teeming with jobs and wealth. And now it was almost empty. Overnight. Just like that.

Feliciano hugged himself tightly as he exited the alley and headed down the street. He had no idea where he was going and no clue _where_ he should have gone even if he'd known the layout of the city. He couldn't go the police, obviously, and he didn't know the contact information for any of Gilbert's government people or Gilbert himself. And even if he had, he didn't have a phone or any money. How was he going to get out of this? He desperately wished Ludwig was here.

Ludwig. He frowned. Ludwig was with the bastard assassin. Ludwig had _left_ him here and gone with the assassin. He bit his lip. He almost hadn't believed it when he'd woken up to find Ludwig gone and Gilbert in his place. He couldn't believe Ludwig had just abandoned him like that. On some level, he knew Ludwig cared about him more than anything and that he had done this to protect Feliciano, to keep him from harm. But this just wasn't right. It just wasn't! He wasn't useless! He wasn't weak! He may not have been strong as America or had magic like England or had the skills of his parallel self, but he wasn't _that_ weak, that powerless. He could have helped. He knew he could have.

So why wouldn't anyone let him?

He felt dejected. He walked aimlessly down a sidewalk that was littered with debris, unsure of where to go or what to do. Hell, he didn't even know what his purpose was now. His bottom lip quivered, and he fought to hold back tears. He hadn't wanted Ludwig to leave him again. That was the only reason he'd come along. Ludwig had been gone so long last time. Feliciano had begun to think he'd never see him again, had begun to think that Ludwig had died and was never coming back. He'd almost fallen apart back then. And then Ludwig had returned, and he'd been so happy. But…but he couldn't go through that again. He couldn't sit idly by while Ludwig was off in a place he couldn't see or hear or get any news from, fighting a dangerous enemy that could easily cost him his life.

But then his great idea to tag along had ended up like this. He was in the right universe this time, and Ludwig had evaded him again! Once more he had no idea if Ludwig was all right. For all he knew, his lover could be hurt or worse. Who was there to say that he hadn't already lost Ludwig for good? He'd wanted to be there this time for Ludwig, and somehow, he'd screwed everything up…Maybe his stupid other self was right. Maybe he was just an ignorant, weak…No. No, he wasn't! And he was going to prove it!

He just had to find everyone first.

He kept a slow pace down the sidewalk, scouring the area for any signs of life. There were some signs of looting, and Feliciano felt a chill run down his spine. It was like Berlin had become a ghost town in the course of twelve hours. It was so eerily silent here, and there was nothing but the sound of the wind rustling the debris on the ground and his own, slow, solemn footsteps. Maybe most of the people had just fled to an unaffected part of the city? If he kept going forward, he was bound to run into someone eventually, right? Someone who, hopefully, was _not_ a policeman out the shoot him.

He froze, all the thoughts and worries leaving his mind in an instant. He could have sworn he'd heard footsteps behind him. His body started shaking, and he had the urge to run for his life. He bit his lip until he tasted blood. No. He was not going to run away like a petty coward. He was not weak and scared and useless. He would prove that to the bastard assassin, and he would prove it to himself. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

Someone suddenly darted toward him.

He whipped around just in time to see a figure in black come at him with a knife. He yelped, leaping out of the way just in time to avoid having his neck sliced open. He landed on the ground and rolled away, pushing himself back up just in time to see several more men spill out of an alley and rush toward him. They were all armed. He swallowed nervously. He had no weapons on him. He scrutinized them quickly, coming to several immediate conclusions. One, these people were human. Two, they were not just civilians, and they were not part of any German forces of any kind. Three, they were out to kill him for a very specific reason. They were targeting him. This wasn't some random attack. They were too organized. Which could only possibly mean one thing: they were working for Yao.

He tried to control the tremors that wracked his body. He'd run away from many a fight before. This time would be different. It was hard too control his flight response though. His body was screaming at him to run away. But he wouldn't. These people were just human. Well trained probably. But still just human. Nations were more hardy than human. Naturally stronger. At least to some degree. Plus, they had weapons. He spotted several guns strapped to them in various places, though the only weapons they'd drawn had been knives. If he could just grab one of those guns, he could take them down.

One of them lunged at him. He ducked just in time to avoid the knife. He rebounded, shooting up and tackling the man, grabbing for one of his guns at the same time. He felt a sharp sting in his side, but he didn't let it deter him. Not this time. He was going to show them—all of them—that he wasn't a coward. He wrenched the gun out of the man's holster and quickly rolled away and back up, disabling the safety. Four of the other men were coming at him now at a breakneck pace, and he knew he wouldn't have time to shoot them all. So he aimed for the one in front of the group and pulled the trigger, shooting the man in the knee.

He went down, tripping two of the others. Feliciano whipped the gun to the right just as the fourth man came at him. He pulled the trigger at point blank range just as the knife sank into his shoulder. The man careened into him and sent them both down. Feliciano felt the man's blood soaking through his clothing, and he suddenly felt sick. He pushed the man off him and pulled himself up, quickly grabbing one of the fallen man's guns too. Each one only had so many bullets.

He barely managed to stand, the man's knife embedded in his shoulder. And he realized for the first time that the sting he'd felt a few minutes prior had been the first man's knife stabbing his hip. The men started to recover, and he knew he couldn't fight anymore. He was outnumbered. Had there only been one or two of them, he might have been able to win. But not with this many. He backed away for several moments before taking off down the street. He tried to ignore the churning in his stomach, the pain in his side and shoulder. _Dio, don't look at the knife!_ It was hard not to. The hilt was plainly visible in his periphery.

He ran until he couldn't run anymore. Then he collapsed and threw up everything in his stomach. He pushed himself away from it, crawling backward until he hit the wall. He knew he'd probably left a trail of blood for them to follow, and he knew he needed to stop the bleeding. The wound in his shoulder was barely bleeding, the knife staunching the blood flow, but his hip was bleeding profusely, and he felt like his hip bone had been grazed. He tried to catch his breath, ignoring the acrid taste on his tongue.

He dropped both of the guns on the ground, tossing them several feet away. His hands were shaking wildly. He'd just killed a man and wounded two others. With his adrenaline levels waning, he started wondering just the what the hell he'd been thinking. He'd _killed_ somebody. He didn't kill people. He wasn't the assassin bastard. He was Feliciano Vargas, Italy, and he was a genuinely nice person. What was _wrong_ with him? Was he honestly so jealous of his other self that he'd resort to killing just to try and make himself compare?

Or was it something else? Was there some other side of himself that he didn't know about? The assassin bastard hadn't always been an assassin. He'd been nice at one point too, right? Or so Ludwig had claimed. He'd become the bastard he was today because something had happened to him or Russia had corrupted him or something. But if _he_ had the potential to become a killer…didn't that mean Feliciano did as well?

It started to rain.

Feliciano began to shiver from the cold, but he was thankful for it. He got up, hesitantly grabbing the guns again—for defense only this time, he swore to himself—and stumbled into an empty drug store, hoping the rain would wash away his trail of blood. He made his way over to the medical section, hoping the store hadn't been completely looted yet. He was in luck. He grabbed a handful of medical supplies and sat down. He was losing a lot of blood from the wound in his hip.

Slowly and carefully, he pulled his pants down until the wound was revealed. It was a narrow, deep stab wound, and he knew it would be hurting for a long time. He figured it probably needed medical attention, but where could he go? There would probably be police at the hospitals trying to keep the peace in this chaos. He opened a bottle of disinfectant and pressed his teeth tightly together, knowing this was going to hurt. It did. He barely contained a scream, and tears started streaming down his cheeks. Once the burning subsided, he pressed a thick cotton bandage against the wound and taped it on, hoping it would hold for at least a while.

Then there was the knife in his shoulder. Looking at it almost made him vomit again. He wanted to curl up and cry hysterically. He wanted to cling to Ludwig or Lovi or _somebody_. But he couldn't do that, could he? Because they weren't _here_. He was all alone now. He breathed deeply. _You can do it, Feli. You escaped all those masked guys. You can do this. You've been in many wars, for God's sakes. You've seen much worse. And you've treated much worse _on the field_. Certainly you can treat a simple stab wound to a non-vital area in a quiet little drug store, right? _

Granted, he'd never treated any wound on his own body worse than a scraped up elbow, but that was besides the point. He was sure the assassin bastard could treat his own wounds. Ludwig had certainly treated his own wounds, and he knew America and England and everyone else probably had too. And if they could do it, then so could he. Because he wasn't a weak coward. He was a strong nation, just like the rest of them.

And he was going to prove it.

So he wrapped his hand around the blade, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He didn't _want_ to look at it, but he knew he had to. He needed to pull it out straight. It he twisted it by accident, he'd hurt himself even more. He tried to relax the muscles in his shoulder, but as soon as he started to pull on the knife, they contracted tightly, sending a wave of pain through his body. He cried out. He almost gave up right there, but he knew he had get the damn knife out. It he didn't, the wound would get infected. So he left his entire left arm go limp, and he clenched his teeth again, eying the knife with caution. He began to pull on it, slowly and carefully. Every millimeter sent another wave of pain through his system, and tears poured down his cheeks.

But he never made another sound.

After stripping his shirt off, he cleansed and dressed the wound, staunching the bleeding before it got heavy. He put a thick cotton pad on it and taped it like he had on in hip. Just in case it needed extra support, he deftly wrapped the wound, part of his arm, and his chest with gauze. Once that was finished, he let himself rest for several moments. His body was its limits. The rain continued to get heavier, and he watched it soak the floor behind the cash registers as it poured in through a broken window. The sound began to lull him closer and closer to sleep, and at some point, he gave in.

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><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Yay! Italy being badass! Sorta...

**Next Chapter: **Feliciano's troubles continue as he tries to find Ludwig and the others. Meanwhile, Ludwig and the others are being evacuated from Berlin. And like usual, they get attacked while trying to.


	19. Toward the Promised Land I

**Dro: **Yay, another chapter of Italy awesomeness! One more chapter of the beginning of this arc before we switch back to the other guys for a while. But no worries! We will periodically return to see how Italy is doing every few chapters.

**Chapter Summary: **Italy gets a lead on how to find the other nations. Unfortunately, his journey to them is interrupted. Meanwhile, Ludwig and the others are evacuated from Berlin. But of course, they don't get away unscathed.

**Warnings: **Violence; Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro doesn't own APH, guys. I'm not even fluent in Japanese (yet).

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><p>He crouched low, peering carefully around the corner. At first, he'd been sure he was mistaken. But at he'd closed in on the scene, he'd realized that, no, his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him. <em>Yao<em> was leaning against the front of a brick apartment building, surrounded by black-clad guards that he was barking orders to. There were a lot more than Feliciano had come into contact with the day prior, and he wondered just how many men Yao had at his disposal in Berlin. He sank down to his knees, trying to hide himself the best he could. His hip screamed in response, but he ignored it. He was no longer covered in blood after raiding a clothing store, and he'd found a small backpack that he'd loaded with medical supplies, so as far as he was concerned, his wounds could just shut the hell up. He had more important things to do.

Like figure out what Yao was planning. He listened closely, thankful for the first time that this part of Berlin was abandoned like it was. Yao's voice traveled all the way across the street and down the alley.

"From what I've heard, the other nations are being kept in a safe house on the south side of the city, but the government is planning to move them tonight. There's a lot of European countries there, as well both America and Canada _and_ the parallel ones. We also have the parallel Germany to deal with. If they manage to catch up to Ivan, they may cause us trouble, so I think a preemptive strike is in order. When they're being transferred from the safe house to the airport, I want you all to attack. I've already sent the same orders to the other group on that side of that city, so you'll meet up with them when you arrive there. Do what you must to cause them significant damage. The only nations you're not allowed to kill are the two Canadas. Anyone else is fair game. Understood?"

The guards nodded silently. Feliciano tried to process all this. Firstly, Ludwig was _here_! He was here somewhere in Berlin along with everyone else! He smiled. Finally, he could meet back up with Ludwig. He'd been sure Ludwig would be far away from here by now, somewhere that Feliciano could never hope to get to. But he was here! Right under his nose somewhere. And Yao was offering a chance for him to find his lover. All he had to do was follow the guards. And at the same time, he could stop them from hurting anyone, thus proving to Ludwig and the assassin bastard that he wasn't useless! Ha! That would teach them.

He continued to silently watch them for several more minutes while Yao rattled off the specific locations. Feliciano had no clue where any of those places where, but he figured he could just follow them to find out. Finally, Yao told them head out, and Feliciano watched as Yao parted from the crowd with two personal guards. Feliciano was almost tempted to follow him and attempt to take him down, but he _wasn't_ stupid. Yao was probably a lot more skilled in combat than he let on. He let all those guards protect him, but he was probably stronger than most of them put together. So Feliciano would let Yao go and follow the group of lackeys instead. They quickly marched down the street, and Feliciano followed them on the opposite side of the buildings, checking every few seconds to make sure he was on the right track.

He did this for nearly two hours. Then the men came to a stop. Feliciano peered around a corner at them, wondering what they were doing. They just seemed to be loitering in front a nondescript building, doing absolutely nothing of—

He ducked, barely avoiding the knife that sliced through the air above his head. _Oh. _He'd been caught. He whipped around and punched the man as hard he could in the abdomen, sending the black-clad guard to the ground. The man gasped, clutching his stomach, and his knife bounced off pavement. Feliciano darted for it and picked it up just as two other men made it to the end of the alley, their companions not far behind. He had the two handguns, but he was _really _outnumbered this time. It was twice as bad as before. Thinking quickly, he spotted a fire escape on the side of a nearby building, and he rushed toward it, leaping on top of a trashcan and then jump straight up to reached the raised ladder of the escape. He hauled himself up it and started heading up the levels of the escape, knowing the men were right behind him. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do, but he was thinking as fast as he could.

When he got the top level, he kicked the window in, ignoring the spray of glass that threatened to cut his legs. He dove into the apartment, and quickly looked around, his ears acutely aware of the legion of guards loudly ascending the fire escape. Then he spotted something he hadn't been expecting: a gas oven. He rushed over to it, pulled it open, practically ripped the igniter out, and turned it on. As soon as he smelled the gas, he was up and shuffling quickly through all the kitchen draws until he found was he was looking for in what appeared to be a junk drawer: matches. He rushed toward the front of door of the apartment and nearly broke the door down trying to get out. Seconds later, as he reached the door that led to the roof, he heard the first of guards begin to invade the apartment. He smiled to himself and rapidly made his way to the rooftop. It was threatening to rain again, he noticed absently as he ran across the roof. He peered over the edge of the roof just as the last of the guards filed in.

Smiling ruefully to himself, he jumped from the room and down onto the fire escape, cringing as the impact pulled at his stab wounds. Without pause, he tore out a match, lit it, and tossed into the now gas-ridden apartment. He dropped to his stomach just as a massive ball of flame shot out the window, and he tried to ignore the screams of the dying guards inside. He'd always hated violence with a passion. Everyone else always seemed so bent on it. _Let's have this war! Let's have that war! Let's invade so-and-so!_ War and fighting had always left a nasty taste in his mouth, and now was no exception.

He rolled over and sighed, pulling off his stolen leather gloves and prodding the back of his hair, making sure it wasn't on fire. He rose shakily to his feet, cringing at the fumes from the still burning fire. He knew a much larger explosion could engulf the building at any time, so he quickly headed back the down the fire escape. It was when he was back on the street level and two blocks away that the building finally went, and the shockwave alone sent him tumbling down. He ducked into another alley as debris came raining down. And then the rain itself followed.

Slowly and calmly, taking deep breaths, he pulled a stolen compact umbrella out and used it to shield himself from the rain. He didn't want have to steal anymore clothes, though he'd wished several times that he'd chosen something different. He'd only realized that the long black coat and leather gloves made him look like the assassin bastard after he'd already left the store. Then again, the jeans and plain white shirt offset the effect, so at least that was something. Just before he started to head off, sure the explosion would attract the authorities, he realized he was shaking. He looked closely at his hands. The one around the umbrella could barely hold the thing straight, and the one resting at his side couldn't stop twitching its fingers. He sighed deeply and shook his head.

He could try to act brave all he wanted, but he just wasn't like everyone else. Every time he saw a weapon, his heart raced. Every time he heard about an approaching war, he had the urge to lock himself in his room and never come out. He _wasn't_ a coward. He _could_ fight if he wanted to. But he just…he _hated_ it. He found himself sniffing, and he scowled, biting back tears. Without the guards, he had no clue how to find Ludwig. For all he knew, they could have been leading him in the wrong direction for some time. But then he realized something—just as he heard the approaching helicopters. Wouldn't the police and firemen be coming from the direction in which everyone had evacuated to? He searched for the helicopters in the sky and spotted them in the distance. It was a long shot, but he remembered the names of the streets and buildings that Yao had spoken of. If he could just make it to a populated area, he could ask for directions. So he ducked back into the alleyways and started off on yet another journey.

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><p>Ludwig sat silently in the car seat, an equally silent Feliciano next to him. They were traveling in a convoy of unmarked black cars, heading toward another different airport that would escort them to an even safer location in the countryside. They were leaving Berlin now. Leaving Berlin and leaving…He had begged Gilbert to let him join in the search, but his brother had declined. He eyed the pale-haired man sitting in the front seat. He had refused to speak to Gilbert since then, and he'd almost had to have both Americas drag him forcefully out of the safe house and into the car. He'd only relented at the last moment.<p>

Now he was getting further away from his lover every second. For all he knew, Feliciano was laying in the street somewhere, hurt and dying. And it would be all his fault. All of it. If he hadn't been so insistent on protecting Feliciano in the first place, then this never would have happened. Feliciano would have come with them safely to Paris, and he would have been able to protect Feliciano during the attack on the conference center. But instead, he'd left Feliciano here, and _this_ had happened.

A hand landed on his knee, and he glanced the darker replica of his lover sitting next to him. Sharp brown eyes flicked toward him. "Keep yourself calm." He whispered. "Gilbert has tons of people searching for him, Ludwig. I know you're scared, but you must remember: if we lose to Russia, it won't just be your Italy that is in danger. Not to mention that if we lose and your Italy is still in Berlin somewhere, then he will trapped in this world indefinitely. The best we can do at this point is push forward, for his sake as well as the world's."

Ludwig allowed the man to calm him down this time, but he knew very well that the former assassin was telling him what he wanted to hear. They were assuming that Feliciano was alive somewhere out there, but he could already be long gone. He could already—

"Stop the car!" Feliciano screamed.

The driver slammed on the breaks just in time to avoid a massive explosion. Feliciano pushed him against the door. "Out! We're being targeted!" Ludwig immediately switched into battle mode, unlocked the door, and rolled out of the vehicle, using it as cover as a spray of bullet chipped away at the asphalt. The other cars in the convoy had pulled to a halt, and the nations were pouring out and taking cover as the government agents lined up and returned fire. A line of black-clad figures were aiming at them from the rooftops, and Ludwig realized that, once again, Russia was one step ahead of them. He pulled out the handgun tucked in his belt and crouched behind a row of hedges, aiming and shooting the best he could. But the enemy was well-armed, and a legion of handguns couldn't have stopped them.

Several of the agents went down, and Ludwig spotted both Americas and both Canadas returning fire. The two Englands were hauling an injured Denmark toward cover. They were outmatched here. The enemy had the high ground, superior weapons, and…He paused as something strange began to happen. Three of the black-clad men fell from the rooftop in quick succession, and Ludwig quickly realized that someone on their side was fighting back from the roof with a rifle. He couldn't see the person who was helping, but several of Yao's guards broke off from the main line and rushed out of sight.

No more than five seconds passed before a massive explosion rocked the rooftop, sending nearly the entire line of men cascading over the edge. Ludwig looked away as most of them fell them fells to their deaths. But they didn't have the advantage for long. Several more guards suddenly poured out of the doors of the buildings, fully armed and ready to attack. Except they had now lost their high ground advantage, and Ludwig began to easily pluck them off with his gun. He quickly glanced around himself to survey the situation again and realized something. Where was Feliciano?

He got his answer almost immediately as several guards dropped dead, knives embedded in their necks and skulls. Feliciano had infiltrated the line, and he was rapidly taking them down, two, three at a time. Ludwig once again watched, astounded, as Feliciano's graceful and deadly moves mowed down almost ever remaining guard in seconds. The rest of them retreated without further prompting, and Feliciano allowed them to get away. He marched back toward the group of nations, and Ludwig met him halfway.

"We need to get out of here. Now. Preferably before we get ambushed again." The Italian said coldly.

"What about the person helping us?" Ludwig asked, searching the roofline for any sign of the mysterious aide.

"Hm? Oh. Who knows? Whoever it was probably died in the explosion. If someone up there on the roof set it off, then it was unlikely anyone up there escaped from it."

"Shouldn't we go look? Whoever it was saved our lives."

Feliciano shot him a glare. "And if we dawdle here, we still might lose them. Who knows how many other guards Yao has here. He could have an army coming after us." He sighed. "Look, I'm eternally grateful to whoever was up there helping us, but we just don't have time to go searching through a steadily collapsing building for them, Ludwig." He nodded toward the building for emphasis.

Ludwig glanced at it again and realized the man was right. The building was on the verge of collapse. They wouldn't even be able to search it period, and anyone who may have been in it or on top of it was probably already dead. He felt guilty for leaving whoever it was behind, and he silently thanked the unknown savior.

"West, we need to go!" Gilbert called from the nearest car. "We've got a lot of injured nations. I've already called the medics. They're waiting at the airport."

Ludwig kept his eyes trained on the building for a moment longer, a strange feeling in his chest. He felt like he was missing something here. Finally, he shook his head. "Yeah, let's go."

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><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Hm...I _wonder_ who it could have been? -shakes head- Ludwig, you dumb ass!

**Next Chapter: **The conclusion of the _beginning_ of Italy's personal arc. And finally, a long-awaited character returns!


	20. Toward the Promised Land II

**Dro:** I like this writing at night thing. It gives me two extra hours to do stuff during the day. Anyway, have at this chapter. Not much to say about it other than it fulfills a desire a lot of you have been expressing for a while.

**Chapter Summary: **Feliciano is forced to face a bleak reality. Meanwhile, a long-awaited character returns.

**Warnings: **Violence; Language

**Disclaimer:** Blah, Blah, Blah, Yeah, Yeah, Don't own. Whatever.

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><p>He stared blearily up at the overcast sky that was now marred by thick black smoke and curling flames. He didn't feel like moving yet. The force of the blast had blown him back and over the edge of the building, and he'd fallen several stories before slamming into the roof of a appended lower level. He'd felt several of his ribs shatter, and he was sure several of the muscles in his back were heavily damaged. He'd be lucky if his spine wasn't injured too, seeing as he'd landed directly on his back. It was miracle he hadn't fallen on his head and snapped his neck.<p>

He'd waited some time for someone to come help him, for someone to realize he was here, but no one had materialized, and he'd been forced to accept that once again, he'd been left behind by his friends and loved ones. It was a jarring realization, and he'd spent the last several minutes considering the implications of such a thing. How could it be that they hadn't noticed someone had been helping them? It wasn't. It would have been obvious that he had assaulted Yao's guards from behind. So why hadn't they come for him? Why hadn't they even checked? It wasn't like any of them to just leave an ally, so why had they this time around?

He didn't rise to his feet until he heard the helicopters and fire trucks approaching. He rolled over, grimacing as the movement tugged at the scrapes and bruises on his back. His shattered ribs weren't helping much either. But regardless, he managed to make his way over to the edge of the building and climb down the fire escape. He was only a block down the street when the police arrived at the scene, and he sighed deeply as he stumbled into yet another alley. Why was it always like this now? Why did he keep having to hide away in the shadows where no one could see him? He'd always been a person of the light. He loved to seize the day, to interact with others. And yet, he couldn't seem to get a hold of anyone here. They all kept slipping right through his fingers. What was it about this place that was so toxic to him?

Because that _was_ what it was. Toxic. This place had already stained his hands countless times. He had lost count of how many men he'd killed already. And he'd only be here for a matter of _days_. How many more people would he gun down before this was over? Every death that came as a result of his actions felt like another pocket of infection that was spreading through his heart. How long would it be before his heart had turned black, before it started pumping poison through his body, before he underwent an irreversible change for the worse? It couldn't have been that long in the future. Not at this rate. Not at the rate at which he was being forced to act violently. Not at the rate that his friends, his allies—Ludwig—were wearing down his emotions.

And he was terrified about what would become of him when that time finally came. If he wasn't dead before that point. Because he had no delusions about his strength or his stamina. He could not win this on his own, and he had no present allies to speak of. If he got into a situation that he couldn't escape from alone, he was done for. So he had to be careful. Very careful. And so far, he'd done a very poor job of being anything close to that.

He struggled to keep his body moving. His lungs were failing to function properly, and he needed rest. His nation body could probably heal the damage. Hell, he'd never known it not to be able to heal something that was anything short of death, so he knew he'd be all right in the long run. But it wasn't the long run he was worried about. More of Yao's guards could easily be prowling around the city. Not to mention he had the cops to worry about too. He was sure his luck was about to run out, and when it did, he would be in deep, deep trouble. He could barely defend himself in this state. And he had nowhere to stay and no food to eat. And the weather was miserable to top it all off. If he was forced to sleep outside in this, he would no doubt become even worse than he already was. And his body was already at its limits.

Frustrated, he kicked a trashcan over, cringing as a wave of pain shot up his knee. He nibbled his chapped lower lip. He had never let his anger get the best of him before, but his nerves were wearing thin, and he was stressed beyond anything imaginable. Sighing, he continued limping his way toward no particular destination when something caught his eye. Out of the trashcan had fallen a newspaper. The wet ground was quickly ruining the pages—pages already stained with all matter of filth—but the headlines remained clearly visible.

As did the picture below them.

'_Nations Enraged Over War Criminal's Possible Parole' _

Feliciano didn't need to read the story. All he needed was the still clean and visible caption under the picture that clearly stated where this war criminal was being held. And the picture itself. He stared longingly at the picture. He had no idea where Ludwig and the others were now. Only that they were heading out of Berlin, and that he would never be able to catch them. The odds of him finding them now was dismal. And the odds of someone helping him—especially with his appearance—were equally dismal.

But this, this gave him another option…

He painfully bent over and let his fingers graze the face of the man in the picture.

_Lovino. _

* * *

><p>Lovino stared up at the dull ceiling of his cell. He wished they'd agreed to let him paint it a different color, but they'd been adamant about "building code specifications" and "nepotism is not allowed" and all that other bull shit they frequently spewed via their arrogant lips. He had many urges to just break out and break their necks, but he figured that wouldn't be good for his possible parole. Plus, he had sworn to himself that he would pay his penance, no matter what it may have been. He had hurt his brother—irreparably so—and he had committed more atrocities than most human beings could commit to memory. So he deserved whatever they threw at him. As it was, they'd only thrown a century-long prison sentence at him.<p>

But apparently he'd turned into a "good boy" since his time as Russia's little guard dog had passed. At least, according to the media. They _had_ let him have a radio, so he could at least keep up with the news. Some of which had recently been about himself. They'd been evaluating his "behavior" in the years since he'd been tossed into his tiny little cell and left to his own devices for the most part. Apparently, his attitude had "improved." He would have laughed at them if it he'd been sure it wasn't true. But for all he knew, it was. He'd lost touch with himself a long time ago.

For a long while, his mind had replayed the last thing Feliciano had said to him. The speech itself was blurred and unclear in his memories, but the message was not. Feliciano had basically disowned him as a brother and vowed never to speak with him again. Which Lovino honestly didn't blame him for. Though at the time, he'd doubted Feliciano would live up to his vow. He'd figured his brother would shun him for a few decades, maybe a century, or perhaps a little longer. But for a being with the possibility of "eternity," _forever_ held a very different connotation than it did for a human being. Feliciano would surely speak to him again, surely accept him again on some level. Lovino doubted they would ever recover the relationship they'd had _before_, and he knew very well that he deserved to have lost something so precious _forever_. But he couldn't imagine Feliciano sticking to that vow.

Not until Feliciano had disappeared.

It had happened just like that. One day, Feliciano had vanished from the house they had long-shared near Venice. Just vanished. Poof. Gone. With the amount of guards they'd had around them, even Lovino had been surprised his _fratello_ had gotten away undetected. But he had. And that was the last time anyone had heard from Feliciano Vargas. The authorities had suspected Lovino several times of communicating with him in secret, but of course, he hadn't been, and thus, nothing had ever come from their investigations. All the while, he had sat by, almost _hoping_ they found his brother. He wanted to _know_ where Feliciano was. It was torment not knowing. And he'd known right from the start that that had been Feliciano's exact point. He had completely and utterly walked out of Lovino's life and off the face of the planet, and Lovino was never to know what had happened to him.

That was his true punishment.

He reached over and flicked on his radio, making sure to keep the volume low. He closed his eyes and let the normally redundant and boring news filter into his ears, blocking out all of his unpleasant thoughts. He'd been fine for four years. Surely he could deal with ninety-six more. Or less if they decided he was "good enough" now to be back on the streets. Though he heavily doubted that if the public's angry response had any weight on the decision. The guards and the lawyers and the judges may have been able to see that he had changed, that he had been tamed and broken, that he was now a horse with a lame leg. But the rest of the world could not. The rest of the world still pictured the ruthless assassin that he had once been, the one who had killed off their precious nations.

And in a way, they were right. But it was different than it had been before. He wouldn't have cared at all if he broke out right at this moment and slaughtered everyone in the jail. He wouldn't have cared at all if he massacred all of the new Italian government officials. But that was just it. He _wouldn't_ care. Back then, in Russia's service, he _had_ cared. He had just cared about the wrong things. All the wrong things. All the things that made him break his brother and betray his friends.

Now, he just didn't care at all.

And truthfully, he wasn't sure which one of those made him more dangerous.

But it was the same apathy that kept him from caring about merciless homicide that also kept him from amassing the energy to actually break out of this prison. Which he could have easily done at any time—he'd dissected every possible escape method and come up with at least ten foolproof ones about a hundred times now—but…he just didn't _care_ about getting out of here. He just didn't care about anything at all.

Not a thing.

He'd mused that that quality must have made him a very poor example of a person. So the public was probably right about keeping him caged. What could a completely apathetic person really contribute to society? He had no desire to work, to make the world a better place. If he had his freedom, he would likely just sit on his sofa, eat pasta, and watch TV. Which was basically what he did now, just in a place with slightly lower quality amenities.

He yawned. Thinking about all this nonsense was really getting him nowhere. He shook his head. What was the point in worrying about his _apathy_? It wasn't like he _cared_ that he was apathetic. He rolled over on his side, ready to let the radio lull him to sleep. But then he heard something. Something…frantic. He rolled over to face his radio, quickly realizing that it was a terrified newscaster on the air, ranting about some kind of terrorist attack. He listened closely, and he felt his stomach drop uncomfortably when he'd finally deciphered the news.

Berlin had been attacked? Thousands were dead? Bombs had destroyed major political and consumer centers? He swallowed, something long-forgotten and stored far back in his memory flickering like an ancient light bulb. This attack sounded an awful lot like…He gripped his pillow lightly. No, that fucker was gone. Long gone. This was just a coincidence, some stupid copy-cats trying to replicate a master of terror in a time that was still immersed in great paranoia. That's all it was. And nothing more.

"_Reports have recently emerged that the bombing was done in a distinct pattern, one that almost appears to have created a perfect star-shaped path of destruction."_

Stars.

Russia had bombed cities with bombs arranged in the shape of a five-pointed star.

It had been his signature.

And its return could only mean one thing.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Well, this should get interesting now that Lovino is coming back into the picture.

**Next Chapter:** In the midst of nearly everyone's emotional crises, we finally get to see what the largely-ignored Matt thinks about all this.


	21. The Mirror's Edge

**Dro:** Got this one written early tonight. I like this chapter. I've done something I haven't really done before with the parallels. Anyway, have at it!

**Chapter Summary: **Finally, the much neglected Matt gets to think through everything that's happened. Then, he gets a surprise visitor.

**Warnings:** Mentions of past non-con; Language

**Disclaimer:** You know this would be canon if I own APH, right?

* * *

><p>Matt aimlessly paced down the dark hallway, the silence finally allowing his scattered thoughts to reorganize themselves. They'd arrived here only hours ago, the day already fading toward the horizon. Everyone had been exhausted, and some of them had been injured from the ambush in Berlin. Matt had been thoroughly surprised to see the safe house compound looked more like a mountain retreat than it did a heavily guarded security facility to protect important officials. And he had to admit he was grateful for that. He'd had enough of staring at industrial walls and being left with nothing to do except ruminate in terror for hours on end.<p>

He crossed the length of the living room and slipped quietly through the deck doors, trying his best not to wake anyone else. The cool night air met him, and he sighed, relaxed for the first time in many days. Yes, here he could actually think calmly and rationally. And most importantly, _alone_. It wasn't that he didn't like company, but everything was so mixed up and confusing now that he just needed some time to figure everything out without twenty-five panicking nations in his immediate vicinity. He pulled a chair from one of the tables and tugged it toward the railing, where he sat down, letting his elbows rest on top on top of the wooden beam.

His immediate view was of a forest, and he couldn't say he minded that at all. It was something calming, something that reminded him of _home_. The sky here, so far out from the city, was clear, the stars twinkling brightly in the night. He rested his head on his arms and inhaled deeply, starting his mental movie reel over from the beginning. Despite the fact that he was uninjured and hadn't faced any severe threats personally yet, he still had a million and one problems. Most of them involved people he would deem his loved ones.

The first problem he came to was Alfred. Alfred—like everyone else—seemed to have completely overlooked his presence. After his little passionate display in Paris, Matt had immediately realized that Alfred had actually dared to use his emotions against him. He'd been enraged at one point about it, but he'd suppressed it due to the seriousness of the situation. And he probably should have continued to do. He would have, too, had the feeling not been eating away at him and threatening to break through his mental wall any moment. He couldn't deny it. He was _pissed_. He knew Alfred had done it to save his brother. It had been self-sacrificial. But that didn't stop him from bearing some animosity toward the man. He hated it when people toyed with his feelings. After so many years of Al refusing to acknowledge his feelings at all, he'd become fed up with that kind of behavior. And yet, here he was facing it all over again.

He didn't _blame_ Alfred for doing what he did, but he still felt immensely disappointed. Part of it spawned from his own stupidity. For a single moment, he'd actually believed that Alfred still held the same feelings for him that he had just over three years prior. But, of course, it was apparent now that he didn't. Actually, it was like Alfred didn't notice him _at all_ now that he'd gotten his Arthur back.

Which brought him to his second problem. Both Alfreds and Arthurs seemed to be having issues. And he wasn't even sure all of them knew it. Matt had thought he'd been imagining things for a while there, but he obviously hadn't been. Al and Arthur and Alfred and Artie were each hiding things from not only all the other nations but also their romantic counterparts. Alfred and Artie _definitely_ knew something that the rest of them didn't know, and Matthew placed all his bets on what had happened back in Yao's base after Alfred had been taken there. He had no clue what it was, but whatever had happened had affected both of them drastically, and they were desperately trying to cover it up. But Matt had still caught it. They would exchange glances that spoke of something they wouldn't dare utter out loud. Matt was more curious than anything else. He was sure whatever their secret was wasn't anything romantic. At least not overtly. It was something specific. Some event or…

And now Al and Arthur seemed to have the same thing going on. Ever since Al had returned with the other British man, they'd seemed to be silently agreeing to say nothing about what Ivan had done after Arthur had been kidnapped. Matt was almost afraid it was because he'd been sexually assaulted. Ivan had already proven he wasn't above such a thing. But he got the sense that this too was something else, something unexpected and not easily deciphered. But like Artie and Alfred's secret, he just couldn't figure it out from their changed mannerisms alone. And it was starting to drive him insane. He couldn't even figure out what Alfred was thinking and feeling now, so how could he even confront the man with his own personal feelings? For all he knew, Alfred was harboring some kind of damaging secret that could tear him apart if revealed, and Matt knew he couldn't risk doing so.

Which meant he'd have to keep his feelings silent. Again. Just like he'd been forced to do with Al. He groaned. Why did this always happen to him? His brother had ignored his advances and had been so blind that he'd never even realized Matt's true emotions. Then, when he'd found someone that actually returned his feelings, the man had _returned to a parallel dimension_ to be with the man he loved _more_ than Matt. And, of course, there was Ivan, who he'd slowly watched go insane over the course of a decade. He was starting to think he just wasn't meant to be with someone. Maybe love just wasn't out there for him. Maybe…

The deck door slid open, and he tensed. The other nation didn't seemed deterred by his presence, and he waited until the person was right behind him before he turned to peer up at him. _Oh._ It was the other him. _Matthew_, who had been noticeably silent since they'd rescued him, pulled up another chair and sat down next to him. Matt stared at him curiously. He deeply regretted not being able to save his counterpart from Ivan's wrath. The anger had been for _him_, not his innocent parallel self. He scrutinized the boy's bruises. They had started to lighten slightly, but they were _bad_. They would remain for a while yet. His eyes traveled down until he met the man's high-collared coat. He was doing his best to cover up the rest of his body, no doubt incredibly self-conscious.

Matt had not seen the extent of his other self's injuries, but he knew Ivan's brutality, and he knew the boy's torso and pelvic area had probably suffered the same fate as his face, if not _worse_. He didn't even want to imagine the kind of pain Ivan had inflicted on his counterpart. The sheer mental torture would have been more than enough for anyone. His world's Ivan was in his counterpart's _body_, and he had used that body to rape his counterpart's _lover_. Just that alone would have broken him, and he knew it. Yet his other self didn't seem to have completely fallen apart. He was quiet. Real quiet. But he was _aware_. Even if no one else had noticed it, he had. His other self had been watching the events unfold very carefully.

He was damaged for sure, but he was not out of the game just yet.

"You've been staring at me for several minutes."

The sound startled him, and he stared, shocked, at his other self. He hadn't been expecting… "Oh, I…I just thought…"

"I _can_ speak, you know?"

"Yes. I know. I just though you didn't want to."

He shrugged. "I don't. But you looked rather lonely out here all by yourself, so I thought I would change gears, at least for a few minutes." His double never made eye contact. Solemn violet eyes gazed up at the night sky, and Matt couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his double's head.

"Oh."

His other self slightly raised an eyebrow but continued to stare at a random spot in the sky. "Well, do you have anything you want to talk about?"

Matt sighed. "Honestly? I could talk all night."

"Well, we have it, so if you really want to…"

Matt swallowed. Of all things he'd been expecting, it hadn't been for his double to help _him. _If anything, it had been the other way around in his mind, and he realized for the first time that may have severely underestimated the differences between them. His double looked so pale and fragile and damaged, but he was _strong. Much stronger than me._ The other boy's silence was likely his coping mechanism. He was purposefully stopping himself from getting into conversations that could potentially set him off emotionally, all the while slowly beginning to recover on the inside. His ability to basically vanish from social situations was actually _helping_ him. It was keeping him calm and composed, and by letting himself process only his own thoughts and feelings at his own pace, instead of forcing himself to align with everyone else, he was able to rationally consider everything that had happened to him.

Matt was on the verge of falling apart, and yet his double—who had faced so much worse—was doing much, much better. He stared at the soft-spoken man next to him in awe. "Um, well…" He paused, realizing he had just been about to discuss his own romantic feelings with his alter self, who had just been devastated by—

"If you want to talk about your feelings for my brother, then go ahead. Don't be shy. I'm not going to shatter if you start talking about love." His lips curled up slightly into a _barely there_ sly smirk.

Matt blushed. "Oh, all right then. Well…" He went on to explain how Alfred's actions had upset him, gradually transitioning into his suspicions about the two sets of British and American nations. Matthew occasionally nodded along with his story, but he didn't offer any commentary until Matt had finished completely.

"Try to not be too hard on Al. He's probably already punished himself for manipulating your emotions." Matthew mumbled softly.

Matt nodded. "I know that. It's just upsetting is all. I suppose we can sympathize with one another about feeling ignored?"

Matthew pursed his lips. "I suppose. I definitely know the feeling." A tongue darted out and licked his lower lip. "Hm. I know what you mean about Alfred and Artie, though I haven't figured out what they're hiding. All I know is that it's something _massive_, so massive that it could potentially hurt their respective lovers. Which is something neither of them would risk. Unfortunately, they seem to have an agreement to keep completely silent about _what _that something is."

Matt let his head rest against the rough wooden railing. "Yeah. In that case, maybe would should just leave that one alone for now."

"Perhaps." Matthew answered simply, his eyes falling from the sky to the densely-packed trees. "However, I do know what happened to Arthur. But you must make sure you don't let on that you know."

Matt perked up. "Of course."

"I happened to see him changing earlier. Thankfully, he didn't spot me." He nibbled on his bottom lip. "I…" He closed his eyes for several seconds before continuing, a defiant look overtaking him. "Ivan carved some kind of message into his back." Matt opened his mouth, but nothing coherent came out. Matthew continued. "I'm guessing he allowed your brother to see it because he was the one who came for him at the hospital. Because of course—"

"Arthur would never let anyone see that kind of damage."

Matthew nodded slowly. "First, he is too prideful. Anyone who saw such wounds would pity him, and pity is something Arthur won't accept under any circumstances. Then, there is, of course, the horror factor."

"He'd have people staring at him constantly. And Arthur hates people looking at him like that because—"

"Because, lastly, he's incredibly self-conscious about his body. And this probably made it a thousand times worse. So, of course, he's keeping it a complete secret, even from Alfred. Because _my_ Alfred—"

"Pities everything and would try to comfort Arthur about it, which would make him even more self-conscious."

"Exactly." Matthew concluded.

Matt hung his head. "I knew something terrible had happened, but that…that really does…" He shook his head. "At least it's something that will heal." He absently touched his forehead. The scar from his bullet wound had all but faded years ago, and he'd been more than happy to get rid of that particular reminder.

"Well, that's something. Though I'm sure the warning came across just fine. Which is another reason Arthur said nothing."

It took Matt a few moments to pick up on his counterpart's point. "Oh…it was a scare tactic. Ivan did it to terrify the other nations. It was a testament to Ivan's power and ruthlessness." He rubbed his temples. "And Arthur doesn't want to demoralize the others."

"Not that that already hasn't happened." Matthew noted bitterly.

"You can say that again." They'd taken a mostly clean route out of Berlin, but part of their trip had clipped one of the bombed areas. Destruction. Chaos. Mercilessness. Ivan had given no warning this time, no threats. He'd just straight out attacked. He was angry at his loss, and he was trying to make it up for it in the only way he how: by become even crueler than he had been before.

He yawned, snapping himself out of his rapidly darkening thoughts. "Wow, I lost track of time." He glanced at a watch he'd managed to snag. It was already past 2:00 AM, and he hadn't slept in well over a day now. He'd been restless.

Matthew _finally_ looked at him, and Matt froze as he met those identical violets. Well, they were supposed to be identical. And they were, in terms of color. But there was something in Matthew's eyes that Matt knew his lacked, and he wondered if it had to do with his other self's immense mental strength and composure. Matthew seemed to be scrutinizing him. "You should rest. I have a feeling tomorrow will be another long day. I…Ivan's rampage will not take too much time off. As soon as he resettles himself in Moscow, he'll be back on the offensive again. We're going to need _everyone_ to work together to take him down. Including you. Whether you want to accept it or not, you _know_ him. You know how he acts, how he thinks. And we need your knowledge. He may be in my lover's body, but he is not my…not my Ivan. And thus, I do not know him. You do. And you can use that knowledge against him just like he uses his knowledge of you the same way."

Matt sat up straight and smiled tightly. "I've spent this whole time thinking that we're supposed the be same person, and I _just_ realized how naïve that idea was. Even after seeing the difference between my Al and your Alfred, I still actually thought…" He shook his head. "But you're not _me, _are you, Matthew?"

"No, I'm not." The edges of lips quirked up in a ghost of a smile. "But that doesn't mean we're unequal. We may be different, but neither of us is _less_ than the other. Just like Al and Alfred. Just like Arthur and Artie. We're _parallels_. We're born from the same processes, but we experience different things. And thus, we have different thoughts and feelings, different strengths and weaknesses. So don't compare yourself to me like I know you've been doing since you first saw me. We have the same face and the same voice, but we are not the same person. And that's probably one of the most important things I've learned in my entire time here."

* * *

><p><strong>Dro:<strong> Two Canadas talking to one another. Strange concept?

**Next Chapter:** Lovino gets an unexpected visitor. Prussia receives some startling information. Artie finds himself in a very uncomfortable position after a fight with Al.


	22. The Conquest of Joshua

**Dro: **You guys didn't like last chapter, did you? -snorts- Not enough action, eh? Trust me, I could tell. (I only got ten reviews.) So, how about some action this chapter?

**Chapter Summary: **Lovino gets a visitor. Or two. Or more. (Sorry, I didn't get to anything else I promised. This scene ended up a little longer than I imagined it.)

**Warnings: **Violence; Language

**Disclaimer: **Well, I now have all ten seasons of Stargate SG-1 on DVD. Guess who's _not_ buying the rights to APH?

* * *

><p>Pacing. He'd always hated pacing. He found it inane and annoying to watch. But now he found himself doing exactly that, back and forth, back and forth, from one end of his cell to another. Ever since he'd heard that news broadcast, he'd been on edge. He was absolutely sure that the perpetrator of the Berlin bombing was <em>not<em> a copycat. It simply couldn't be. The authorities in the nations were still on careful watch, even years later, for any signs of, well, _anything_ out of the ordinary. Crime had been significantly reduced after the rebuilding had finally reconnected the world and jumpstarted the economy again. The odds of there being an attempted copycat bombing—much less a successful one—were incredibly slim. And it was just…it was just done _too_ perfectly. Not to mention they had no suspects. At all. Nor any possible motives.

Except for, perhaps, _revenge_. Ivan was a dead ringer for this. It _had_ to be him, as insane as it sounded. Because Lovino was perfectly aware of how crazy his theory was. The man was _dead_. He had seen the man die. The bastard's body had been _blown up_. So how could he possibly be alive? But that was just it. Because _who_ on Earth would suspect a "dead man" until it was far too late? If Ivan _had_ somehow returned from the dead, then he would certainly be playing that angle. No doubt about it. The more he thought about this, the more it made sense.

And the more vulnerable he felt. He was in prison. He was like a bird in a cage. If Ivan was out for revenge, then Lovino had no doubt in his mind that he would be hearing from the man soon. Ivan didn't do things halfway. He never had. Which left Lovino in a very awkward position. He _could_ break out of this prison, but then he'd be in even more trouble with the law. And if he was wrong about Ivan being back, then he would be left in a really _bad_ position with the entire world. But if he was right, then he might have been able to join up with the rest of the nations (who had to have known what was going on by now) and help fight the Russian bastard. Of course, he had a third option, but that one wasn't much more appealing than the others.

He could wait.

But that would be insanely dangerous. If Ivan sent someone after him—or God forbid, came himself—then Lovino wasn't sure he could escape from whoever came to take him out. He could get past a few prison guards, but anyone Ivan sent out would be much more skilled. He couldn't take down but so many people unarmed, especially in the tight confines of a prison facility, _especially_ when he would have to actually break out of his cell first. Which left him confused as to what to do. If he took his chances and fled, he could end up in deep trouble with the rest of the world. But if he did nothing, he could easily end up dead if his theory about Ivan was right.

"You've been on edge lately."

He jumped and whipped around. Slowly, he relaxed, realizing it was only one of his regular guards. He shook his head. "My apologies. I've been listening to some bad news lately."

The guard frowned. "Ah, you mean Berlin? I hear they're having real tough times now. It's a shame. You would think the terrorists would have settled down for a least a few more years."

He nodded, working the tightness out of his shoulder. "I agree." He most definitely did not agree. "But it seems some people just don't learn their lesson." Now _that_ he could go for. Because as smart as Ivan was, he just _wouldn't give up_, no matter how bad the odds or how heavy the damages. That was his one major weakness. He just wouldn't accept defeat. And apparently that flaw extended _into the afterlife._

"I wouldn't worry too much about it if I were you," the guard replied. "I'm sure they'll catch the people responsible soon enough. God knows the world has enough security forces for this kind of thing now."

Lovino sighed inwardly. They could have all the security they wanted. Nothing would stand in Ivan's way of getting what _he_ wanted. His prior defeat had been at the hands of luck. And if the luck had now shifted in the Russian's favor, then they were most assuredly all doomed. But there was no reason to alert the poor guard to that. "I'm sure you're right. But I just can't help but be a little jittery, you know?"

The man nodded sincerely. "I understand perfectly." He began to rant on about something Lovino didn't even hear. Because Lovino's attention had been torn from the guard as soon as his well-trained eyes caught an abnormal movement from his periphery. The kind of movement associated with _sneaking_ silently up to _kill_ someone.

"Hey, my throat's been hurting for the past few days," he said abruptly. "And now I'm starting to feel a little light-headed. You think you can go talk to the doctor for me, see if he'll let me have a quick checkup?" _Get out of here. Get out of here _now_._

The guard blinked and furrowed his brows, obviously confused as to why Lovino had so suddenly brought this up. "Um, well, I suppose. You have a fever?"

"Not sure. But I'm starting to feel worse."

The man nodded, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "Very well. I can just escort you with some backup if you're feeling _that_ bad."

_Damn you! Damn you, you stupid—_

The guard was dead before he hit the ground.

The knife had been thrown so hard that it had cut through his skull with his little resistance. Lovino saw them now. There were three, hiding within the shadows, moving within them like ghosts. No doubt they had already disabled the cameras. No doubt they would be able to kill him in seconds. He caught the glint of another knife, and he dropped just as it flew overhead, embedding itself in the wall behind him. _I am so dead_. He was trapped in a metal cage, unarmed, with three highly trained assassins coming for him. _Damn it._ _I should have taken my chances and made a run for it._ Now he was out of time. And he was most definitely out of luck.

Or not.

Just as the trio closed in on him, three shots rang out, and they quickly retreated, taking up defensive positions. At first, Lovino thought it was more guards, but a hooded figured rushed down the hallway instead, and as if on cue, Lovino's automatic cell door opened. He dashed out of the cell and darted for the figure, who tossed him another gun. Then they ran for it. A jail hallway was no place for a fight between assassins.

The alarm _finally_ went off a few seconds later, but that didn't prompt them to stop. They rushed by the occupied cells of confused inmates, some of whom apparently thought this was just a standard breakout attempt. Lovino would have laughed at them if he'd had the breath, but several years in a cell had damaged his physical capacity, and running at speeds he hadn't in such a long while was beginning to take its toll on him. Worse yet, the assassin trio was catching up.

Lovino glanced at his mysterious savior, who seemed to be intentionally hiding his face. The hood had fallen back, only to reveal hair meticulously covered by a black head wrap and a face mask covering the man from the nose down. _Well, I guess I won't be figuring out this one for a while yet_. Of course, that was probably the least of his concerns. A line of guards stood in their way, guns poised to shoot. But when they saw the three assassins aiming their weapons at the other two men, they become visibly panicked and confused. This was _not_ the standard situation they had been trained for. And Lovino really didn't have the patience for this.

Without hesitation, both he and the mysterious man leapt over the line of guards, landed, and kept going. The mystery man seemed to know his way around the prison, and he took a sharp left when he reached the end of the hallway. _Kitchen exit. Of course._ It was a cramped space with an even more cramped exit, but it was the closest and fastest way out, so Lovino followed the man without complaint. Just as they neared the cafeteria entrance, Lovino heard a series of distinct, sharp shrieks of pain and fear. The prison guards had apparently decided to aim for the trio. _Fools, _he couldn't help but think. _Sometimes you really just should mind your own business._

Two minutes later they were out the kitchen's back door and into the loading facility where food deliveries came. As soon as his feet touched the concrete, Lovino felt a deep sense of relief. He hadn't been outside much in the last few years. His _abilities_ posed too great a threat for him to be let outside in the yard too often. Abilities which were now coming in handy as the duo quickly scaled the fence, craftily avoided the barbed wire as well as several shots from the guards on duty, and took off toward the city. They had at least two miles before they hit the city limits, but as soon as they made it to a more populated area, they could blend in and get lost among the crowds.

Lovino breathed deeply, his chest and sides aching from the physical strain. But he refused to stop and rest, and he found himself feeling more adequate when he listened in on the mystery savior's condition. He was panting so loudly that Lovino was almost sure he would pass out any second. But somehow, both of them kept going until the city's lights grew brighter and brighter and the shapes of buildings that contrasted with the dark night sky came into view. Finally, they slowed to a quick walking pace.

Lovino took the opportunity to gaze up at the sky. It was clear and star-filled, and he let himself smile. He hadn't tasted such freedom in years, and though his body was aching and his lungs were burning, he couldn't help but savor the feeling of the crisp night air and the grassy ground under his feet. When that ground finally reverted to concrete and asphalt, he put himself back on alert. The mystery man held up his hand and motioned for Lovino to follow him. They weaved in and out of alleyways, the man obviously trying to throw any followers off their trail. It was a very novice attempt, he noticed, but he said nothing. This man had just saved his life after all.

It didn't take him long to comprehend what the man was getting at. He had obviously set up some kind of base of operations somewhere—rented out a room in some hotel perhaps? A few minutes later, his theory was validated. They arrived at a small hotel in a seedy part of the city, the man leading him quickly through the unmanned lobby and into a creaky elevator. They went up only two stories, but Lovino couldn't complain. He was breathing just as hard as the other man was. Once they'd exited the rickety machine, the man dug around in his pockets and pulled out a key before leading Lovino to the room at the end of the hall. Lovino followed him wordlessly, slightly apprehensive. One the one hand, the man had rescued him from certain death. On the other, he still had no clue who this man was, why he had helped him escape, or what else he had planned.

But the door swung open and revealed nothing but a standard hotel room. The man ushered him inside and quickly closed the door behind him, locked it, and slid the chain into place. Then he sank to the floor, his chest heaving for air. Lovino, mildly concerned, crouched next to him.

"Are you all right?"

The man _looked _at him.

Looked at him with eyes that he could _never _have forgotten.

The man, hands shaking from exhaustion, pulled down his face mask. "Fine, _fratello_. Just fine." He smiled brightly. "How about you?"

Feliciano.

Feliciano was sitting in front of him.

"You're…alive…"

The man nodded several times. "Yeah, about that. Well, let me explain first."

Lovino hugged him tightly, burying his face in his brother's shoulder. He didn't care if the other man hated him. He didn't care where he'd gone or why. He just cared that Feliciano was _here_, _now_. That was all that mattered. All those many days that had passed where he'd sat there and stared at the ceiling and wondered what had become of his _fratello_…_This_ was what they had all been for.

"I am sorry. I am so, so sorry." He whispered. Over and over. "I know…I know that you refused to forgive me before, but I…I hope that…that somehow we can…"

Feliciano silenced him by pressing two fingers against his lips, a sheepish smile on his flushed cheeks. A smile that was completely unlike the brother he had come to know. Feliciano cleared his throat, his voice sounding oddly embarrassed. "Um, before you finish that, there's something you should know."

He stared, uncomprehending. "What?"

"I'm not _your_ Feliciano."

He continued to stare. "What?"

"I'm the parallel one."

It still didn't click. "What?"

Feliciano sighed, exasperated. "From the parallel world! You know, the one where the other Germany and America came from? That one? Ring a bell?"

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh…

Well, that changed…everything.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>Good guessing, guys. It most certainly _was_ Feli that I was originally referring to. And you'll find out how that came to be a little later.

**Next Chapter: **Prussia receives some startling news. Meanwhile, Artie ends up an awkward position after having a fight with Al.


	23. Reflections of Job

**Dro: **-too sleepy to write coherent sentences-

**Chapter Summary:** Prussia...gets shocking news...-yawn- Artie has an argument with Al...awkward situation. -yawn-

**Warnings:** Language; Violence

**Disclaimer: **Will "Don't own" suffice?

* * *

><p>It just wasn't enough that he was nearly drowning in his guilt, was it? He tapped his fingers against the wood of the dining room table, idly following the lines of the grain. He was partially happy. This was, quite possibly, the first time in months he'd sat down at a table that didn't have some sort of paperwork on it. However, he'd quickly realized that having nothing to left him to stew in his own misery. And what great misery it was! He'd been reunited with his alternate <em>bruder<em> for mere hours, been given an incredibly important task, and completely failed at it not much later. Yes, he was a great replacement for his own Ludwig, wasn't he?

He just couldn't believe he'd lost Feliciano. That version of Italy—though sad and angry—was obviously not like their own. He was rather ditzy and immensely kind, and Gilbert had grown to like him very quickly. Only for _this_ to happen. He had sworn to Ludwig that he'd protect the man, and he had broken that swear. He currently had every man he could spare looking for the poor lost boy, and he desperately hoped they found something soon. It had been somewhat of a reassuring sign that Feliciano's body hadn't been found, but he was getting steadily more worried by the hour as _nothing_ was reported by his men. It was true that Feliciano could have been swept away with the crowds, but Gilbert severely doubted he was just huddling with some other refugees that had fled the affected areas.

For one, _someone_ would have recognized the infamous missing war criminal by this point if that had been the case. Which, of course, had Gilbert all the more worried. His own government agents knew who Feliciano was, but most people didn't, including some security forces and the police. If anyone of them found Feliciano and he resisted arrest, then…_Gott_, he didn't even want to think about what would happen. He'd sent an order to all the local police units and security teams, instructing them _not_ to fire on Italy if they saw him, but he knew the order had probably gone out far too late. It would take time to reach all of them, and by then…

He let his forehead land roughly on the table, not caring about aggravating the migraine that had already sprouted in his head. How had he managed to make such a mess of everything so quickly was mindboggling. Everything had been running so smoothly, and then it had all fallen to pieces in a matter of hours. He hadn't even had a clue that Russia was planning an attack. Granted, he hadn't known Russia was_ back from the dead_ at the time, but that really wasn't an excuse. As many highly trained security forces as he had in Berlin, _someone_ should have seen or heard _something_. Unless…he groaned at the possibility. Unless Russia had loyalists or Yao had agents hiding amongst them. He slammed his fist on the table. During the restoration of Berlin, he'd pretty much accepted every volunteer he could find. There was just _so much_ to rebuild, so much to restore. It was very possible that someone with _ulterior_ motives had slipped into his midst. And all the records had been damaged, so he hadn't even been able to check if most of them were even German citizens at the time. Europe had had to devise an entirely new immigration and citizenship system because almost _everyone_ had been displaced at some point.

There were just so many holes that they could have slipped through, and he hadn't even been considering that at the time. This was a disaster. _He _was a disaster. All of this—

"Sir, we just received several very detailed reports."

He sat up in seat, blinking wearily at the guard who had just walked through the door. "Anything interesting?"

"Yes."

"Like what?" He cringed at the throbbing in his head.

"Do you want something for that, sir?"

"Yes, please. But it can wait until after your explanation. Go ahead."

He coughed before beginning. "Well, sir. We sent out your orders to all the police stations, and, well…you're not going to like this, but, on the day that the attacks happened, a group of first responders—the nearest police units—arrived at your location. They reported that they found _North Italy_ standing over your unconscious body, and they assumed he was attacking you."

Gilbert's stomach began to churn. "Oh _Gott_…"

"They opened fire, but he ran and managed to escape."

"Shit." He cursed himself. He _knew_ something like this had to have happened. But _Gott_ he'd wished been wrong. "What else?"

"That's it concerning sightings of Italy. We've pretty much swept the entire city by this point and found no trace of him. It's likely—if he's alive, that is—that he's no longer in Berlin."

"Expand the search, then."

"Yes, sir, we will. However, we received an interesting report just this morning that may possibly be connected to him. But, the thing is, we're unsure if this indicates _North Italy's_ presence or…someone else's."

Gilbert stiffened. He recognized that tone of voice. "Russia?"

"Possibly."

"Well, what is it, exactly?"

The response was hesitant. "Late last night, South Italy was broken out of prison."

He leapt up, the chair clattering to the floor. "_Excuse me?_"

"Please, sir, don't jump to conclusions. When I first heard, I also thought the same thing you are no doubt thinking. However, upon further investigation, you'll see that something just doesn't add up."

"So you're saying Russia _didn't_ break him out?" He tried to steady his breathing.

"Well, that's the thing, sir. We've seen the footage of the incident and…it's just…not right."

"What do you mean?" He leaned against the table for support, his migraine making him exceedingly lightheaded.

"The tape shows two people, one South Italy and one a masked person, escaping…while being _pursued_ by three other masked people. South Italy and his accomplice harmed no one in their escape, but the three pursuers killed several guards before escaping themselves. Unscathed. And more unsettling, a hidden camera—as the main ones in South Italy's cell block were mysteriously disabled—caught what appeared to be the three masked men preparing to _assassinate _South Italy before he was _rescued_ by the single unknown person."

Gilbert blinked several times. "Well, that certainly doesn't sound right."

"No, sir, it doesn't. We've analyzed the footage over and over, and we still have no idea what happened."

Gilbert rubbed one of his temples. None of this was making any sense. "Wait, you said you though might be connected to Italy? You think _he_ may have been the person that helped South Italy?" He tried to picture it, but it just didn't seem like the type of thing _that_ Italy was capable it.

"It's a theory, sir. We have no real leads yet on the truth."

"Right, well, keep looking. On all fronts. For _anything_."

"Yes, sir."

He barely managed to bend over and haul his chair back up before nearly losing his balance and sinking into it. He covered his eyes, trying to block out not only the offending light but the world itself, wishing it would all just go away and he wake up back before any of this shit had happened. Everything he'd worked for, everything he'd rebuilt…_gone_ in a matter of hours.

Just….gone.

* * *

><p>He stretched, stifling a yawn. They hadn't really made much progress at all today, and it was starting to discourage him even more. If the nations couldn't get their priorities straight and starting planning to counteract Russia's attempts to regain his former dominance, then they were all screwed to hell. Probably literally. Every moment they wasted with their pointless bickering and inane political squabbles, Russia was getting further and further ahead. If they didn't do something soon, they would reach a point where it would be impossible to catch up to him.<p>

"Hey."

He jumped, spinning around on the comforter to see Al standing in the door. "Oh, it's just you."

Al's eyes grew concerned. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "You all right?" He made his way over to the bed and sank down next to him. "Look, I know you've been feeling guilty and stressed and everything, but you really need to relax. Worrying yourself until you can't even think straight isn't going to help anyone."

Artie sighed. "I know that, Alfred. I just…I just can't seem to get over it." _I'm worrying about so much more than you know. And I want to tell you. I really do. But I _can't_. Because it will _destroy_ us, Alfred. Completely._ "I'm sure it'll pass eventually, but I won't lie. It's really dragging me down. I'm repeating the same mistakes I made four years ago. I've let him get _this_ far ahead in so little time. I'm starting to fear we won't be able to stop him period, much less before he does any major damage."

Al wrapped an arm around him and kissed his temple. "I think you should sit out of the meeting tomorrow morning."

"What?" He pulled away.

"Arthur, listen. You're _really_ stressed out, and everyone can see it. No one will blame you for taking some time to _rest_ and get your thoughts together."

"And what? I should have the special privilege of doing that over everyone else?"

Al frowned. "Look, Arthur. You just need to…" He trailed off as Artie's expression shifted into anger.

"You're asking to me to take time off because you think I've been mentally damaged by my captivity, aren't you?" He narrowed his gaze. "Or is it that you think I've been compromised? You think I'm a spy?"

"Whoa!" Al held up his hands in surrender. "No! No one's suggesting anything like that. But, Arthur…even you have to admit…you've been through _a lot_ in the past few weeks. You were _tortured_, Arthur. And I blame _myself_ for not being able to get you out of there before it happened. Hell, I blame myself for not catching on to Yao. Look, I _swear_ no one thinks you're weak or scarred or anything. We just think you should lay down and take some time to rest and recover your strength. You've barely gotten any sleep. Even last night, Arthur, when _nothing_ was happening. Don't think I didn't notice. Did you even sleep at all?"

"Yes, I've been sleeping just fine." A complete lie.

And Al knew it. "Arthur…_please_. Just do this for me. I don't want to see anything bad happen to you because you're too fatigued to fight at full strength and think straight. We _need_ you. For a lot of reasons. No one would dare suggest anything else. You were the one who led us all to victory last time, who stopped Russia from crushing Europe. We need you, and we want you. But we need you at full strength. And you're obviously not."

"I'm _fine, _damn it. Why won't you listen to me?" He rose from the bed and stomped over to the window.

Al groaned. "See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. You're behaving erratically, Arthur. Can't you see that? Your body is _drained_, and it's taking a toll on your mind. Not to mention you're letting your guilty conscience eat away at your resolve. Please, Arthur. I'm begging you here. Please rest. Just for a day or two."

"Russia could quite possibly take over the world in two days."

"Arthur!" Al exclaimed, exasperated. "Listen to yourself. Everything that comes out of your mouth is about Russia! Yes, we need to stop him. Yes, this is a terrible situation. But if we don't come at him with full strength and full mental capacity, we _will_ lose."

"Oh, now you're doubting my _mental capacity_?"

"Arthur…are you even hearing yourself speak?"

"Yes. Very much so." He continued to stare out the window, blinking slowly every few seconds. His eyelids felt so heavy, but every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was death and destruction and…Alfred. Not Al. But Alfred. And ironically, that was what was tearing him apart the most. Al's touch still felt cold and empty. They'd tried to have sex several times already, and it always ended the same way. With him pulling away before anything at all happened. Because he just felt…_empty_ whenever Al touched him. This man, who he loved so very much—he _knew_ he did—could no longer elicit any response whatsoever from him. No matter how hard he tried to jumpstart his emotions. Nothing happened. _Nothing_. Absolutely nothing.

It was the oddest feeling, knowing he loved Al and yet being unable to feel the love that was supposed to be there. And yet, when thought of _Alfred_, everything completely reversed. He knew the bond was at fault. Of course it was. Just like it had connected their bodies, it had connected their minds, their emotions. Even if they couldn't consciously notice it—yet—their feelings had been artificially altered. He hadn't seen the change in Alfred, but he knew it was there. It had to be. Alfred was just doing a much better job at hiding it than he was.

"Arthur…"

"Just leave me alone."

"Arthur, please…"

"Go away."

Al finally snapped. "This is _my_ room."

"Fine." He whipped around and marched past a stunned Al, who couldn't seem to believe he'd just said what he'd said. "I'll leave you then."

"Arthur, you can't mean—"

He slammed the door shut before he caught the end of that. No, he didn't mean that. He _never_ wanted to mean that. But for all knew, he would very soon. And there was a possibility that he could do nothing to stop it. He wandered through the hallways, wondering if Al would chase after him. When he didn't appear, Artie made his way down the stairs and toward the front door. There was a guard posted just outside who nodded as he walked by.

"I'm just going out for some air. To the pond. I'll be back soon."

The man just nodded again.

The dew was cool on his bare feet, and he relished it. He let himself bask in the night air, his way lit only by the moon and stars. It had been many years since he'd let himself be guided by nature. It was a thing of the distant past here in this technology-oriented present. But he liked the past. Well, some parts of it, at least. The dirt path down to the lake wound around trees, following the layout of the land. He knew there were men stationed all around the perimeter of the property, so he made sure he didn't stray from the path. The last thing he needed was to get shot by friendly fire.

When the pond came into view, he let himself relax.

For all of two seconds.

Because there was someone else at the pond too. And before he could retreat, the man turned around.

"Artie?"

"Alfred…" His legs started taking him forward of their own accord, and he found himself standing next to his biggest fear, just beyond the reach of the pond's waters.

"What…what are you doing out here?" Alfred asked stiffly. He was nervous. Nervous because he was afraid he couldn't control himself around Artie. Or at least that was Artie's guess. Because that was exactly how he felt at this point.

"Air. I needed air."

Alfred cleared his throat. "Oh. Yeah, me too. It's kind of stifling in the house."

"Very." They both stared out at the calm waters.

"So…how are…things?" When Artie didn't reply, he tried again. "Oh, by the way, I'm sorry about the bruised knee. I wasn't being careful enough during the ambush…"

"It's fine. It's just superficial. I don't really care about that. Everyone gets bumps and bruises and scrapes."

"Of course…"

Something seemed to slowly unravel in Artie's mind, and he felt compelled to ask: "Alfred, do you still love Arthur?"

"Eh? What…what kind of question is that? Of course I do!"

The unraveling thread suddenly snapped, and he whipped around, grabbing Alfred by the front of his shirt. "No! I did not ask you if you _know_ you _should_ love Arthur. I asked you if you _do._ Answer me honestly!" Alfred began to pale considerably, and Artie felt every fear he'd ever had about his relationship with Al flare up. "Alfred, answer me." He ordered. He was trying his best to resist the compulsion to lean closer, but he was failing, his face gradually drifting closer to Alfred's. Alfred did not pull away or try to stop him.

"I…" He tried to answer. "I…I can't…I…"

Artie leaned up, beginning to close the gap between them. He wanted to resist this at all costs, but he wasn't sure he could fight it anymore. A tear slipped down his cheek. He had loved Al for so long, and he knew with all his being that that love should have still been there.

But it wasn't.

Their lips brushed—

"I—"

"Alfred!"

The pushed away from each other, both of them stumbling backward. Their heads snapped to the right just as Arthur's form emerged from the trees.

"Alfred, are you—Oh! There you…" his eyes landed on Artie, "…are." He glanced from one to the other. "So, what are you two…talking…about?"

* * *

><p><strong>Dro: <strong>_Awkward..._

**Next Chapter:** Feli and Lovi...-yawn-...talk about what's happening...Feli makes a request...The group of nations...is attacked...-falls asleep-


	24. The Battle of Carthage

**Dro:** -yawn- Here you go, guys! Lots of stuff happening in this chapter. Can't wait until it gets _really_ intense. (Pssh, like it's not already.) Anyway, have at it! And drop a _review_, if you please! I'm looking forward to hearing your opinions on Feli in this chapter. I have a feeling some of you will notice something _very_ interesting about him.

**Chapter Summary:** Feliciano and Lovino talk about what's happening, and Feliciano makes a surprising request. Meanwhile, the nations are brutally attacked.

**Warnings:** Violence; Language

**Disclaimer: **Ha ha! Yeah right! With as much as I've spent in the last few weeks, I'll be lucky to have enough to buy books next semester!

* * *

><p>"And here I'd thought I'd heard everything." He stirred the sugar into his coffee. "But Resurrection? What's Russia going to come up with next? Ascending to godhood?" He sipped the steaming beverage. "I wouldn't put it past him at this point."<p>

Feliciano swung his feet around carelessly. "Ve, I don't know. I just heard Yao talking about him. So he's back, and since this all started with magic, I'm assuming it went from there." He eyed his _fratello_ curiously. This Lovino was far more subdued than his own. There had been no random outbursts of rage or strings of curses. He could just see it teeming in those green eyes, hiding beneath the surface, but this version of his brother had absolute control over himself. In a way, he preferred this Lovino. He didn't have to cringe at the yelling and swearing every few minutes. But on the other hand…it was a little _too_ quiet.

"So, all your friends have met up with this world's nations?"

"Supposedly." He answered, glancing out the window. They were far from the city they'd started in now, and they'd hunkered down in a little town near the border. As far as Feliciano knew, everyone was still in Germany, so he'd figured their best bet was to head there. Of course, traveling was kind of complicated at this point. Lovino's picture was all over the news. It seemed the government had decided _not_ to mention the actual assassins and just go with the standard "he broke out" response. Though Feliciano didn't entirely blame them for that. The last thing the European governments wanted to do right now was incite mass panic. A story about mysterious assassins showing up to assassinate _another_ assassin—one that worked for and _betrayed_ Russia—was probably not something that would help keep people calm. Of course, neither was saying a dangerous assassin had escaped.

"So, finish telling me about your harrowing escape from Yao's men." Lovino took another sip.

"Ah, well, ve." He felt his face flush. Lovino was highly skilled. He'd probably laugh at how amateur Feliciano had been. "I, uh, got separated from Gilbert when the bombs went off. I tried to help him because he was knocked unconscious, but the police showed up and thought I was…" He frowned sourly. "Thought I was the _other_ me."

Lovino paused mid-sip. "Oh. I see." His gaze was contemplative. "Continue?"

"Well, they shot at me, and I had to run away. Then I got lost in Berlin because it's different from the one at home. That's where I ran into Yao's men. They ambushed me, but I managed to escape." He wrung his hands, avoiding his brother's hard gaze.

"Unscathed? Impressive."

He blushed harder. "Not exactly."

A brown eyebrow shot up. "You're injured?"

"Not that bad. I took care of them myself."

Lovino set his cup down on the table. "Gunshot wounds?"

"Um, no…knife."

Lovino pursed his lips. "Let me see them." His demeanor had completely shifted into something akin to concern, but like all of his emotions, it seemed…_off_. Feliciano slowly rose to his feet and unbuttoned his shirt until the bandage was visible. Lovino slipped around the table and quickly unwound the gauze, revealing an aggravated but healing stab wound. "You said 'them.' There's another?" He nodded and hesitantly tugged one side of his pants down until the bandage on his hip was visible.

"It's okay though. I took care of them. Ve, you don't have to worry!" He tried his best to smile, but he could tell he faltered. It was hard to smile when talking about something he really wished to forget. As far as he was concerned, what had happened in Berlin was in the past. He didn't want to the think about the rain or the guns or the explosions or the knives. He'd been in a very bad state of mind there, and he was _just_ beginning to get over it. Having Lovino to talk to had helped him a lot, and he really wanted to steer clear of this subject.

"Well, they _look_ all right. You bandaged them yourself?"

"Well…since it was _just_ me at the time, um…"

Lovino's face was unreadable. "You're a lot stronger than you pretend to be, aren't you?"

Feliciano swallowed nervously. "I…I'm not _weak_, if that's what you mean. I _can_ fight if I have to. I just don't like to." His brain berated him, calling him a liar. He'd killed a lot of Yao's men, so how he could claim to hate fighting? He shivered at the prospect.

"I see." Lovino sank back down into his chair. "But everyone thinks you are, don't they?"

He froze. "Ve?"

"Weak. Everyone thinks you're weak. That's why they left you with Gilbert, right?"

"…Just…can we not go there?"

"I think we should. If you really want to help defeat Russia, then you need to be in top condition. When you saved me back in the jail, you _knew_ what you were doing and you did it well. But I've noticed—and trust me, it's obvious—that every second you've been around me, you regress further and further into this mock 'helpless' state. Whether you hate fighting or are scared of it or are just a pacifist, it doesn't matter. If you honestly want to help here, then you _will_ have to fight. I, for one, will not do all the work for you while you cower at the sidelines."

His hands shook. "I…I wasn't suggesting you do that…"

"But weren't you?" Lovino tapped his sugar spoon on the table. "It's what you always do, isn't it? It's _why_ everyone thinks you're weak, right? You abhor fighting, so you refuse to do it even in the face of danger. Instead of doing the dirty work for yourself, you let others do it for you, and this makes you come off as useless in combat. But you're not, are you?" He kept tapping the spoon. "No, you're smart and skilled and have a _ton_ of potential, but you're letting your inhibitions get in the way. And don't get me wrong. I _do not_, under any circumstances, want you to turn out like _my_ Feliciano. But if you want to prove your worth to those people you call your _friends_, then you will have to stand up and fight with them."

Feliciano refused to meet his eyes. He stared at a chip on the wood of the table, biting back tears. He knew Lovino was right. When he'd been in that city all by himself, he'd let his body stifle his hatred of fighting and let his instincts take over. But that was just it. He was just afraid of his instincts as he was of fighting in the first place. He didn't want to become like the assassin bastard. He didn't want to become like the countless people he'd seen smiling and grinning and laughing and cheering on the battlefields of the past. He wanted to be happy because _good_ things were happening. That was how he'd always operated.

But, out of jealousy and fear, he'd hitched a ride to this soon-to-be-hell, and now he was stuck with a impending war on the path before him. So what was he to do? He was terrified of the him that had emerged in Berlin, but if he didn't embrace that side of himself, he would either die or get his loved ones killed. Standing back and letting Ludwig do all the work wasn't going to happen this time. Ludwig was just as liable to fail as anyone else. If they were to defeat Russia, they would need _everyone_. Including him.

"O…Okay."

Lovino raised another eyebrow. "Okay…what?"

"Train me."

"Train you…?"

"Train me to fight!" He clenched his pants' legs and bit his lip anxiously. "Please?"

Lovino seemed stumped for a moment, but then he understand. He nodded. "All right then. I'm not sure how much I can teach you before we actually end up in a combat situation, but I will try my best. First off, though, finish your story about Berlin. You said you ran into Yao's men more than once?"

"Ve, yeah. They caught me trying to use them to find Ludwig and the others, but I got away from them." He fidgeted.

"How?" Lovino drained the last of his coffee.

"I, uh…tricked them into following me into an apartment…"

"And…?"

"And made a gas oven explode."

Lovino snorted. "You really are a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for, you know?"

Feliciano really couldn't think of a way to counter that one.

* * *

><p>Alfred tied the towel tightly, trying to ignore the screams of his counterpart. Artie was yelling at him. Arthur was yelling at him. And this was a really bad time to be yelling at him. Another explosion wracked the ground behind them, and Alfred grabbed onto the handhold as the car shook. He kept applying pressure to his other self's shoulder, and he looked the man over. His eyes were glazed, he wasn't coherent, and Alfred was deathly afraid that he was going into shock and there was nothing he could do about it.<p>

It had come out of nowhere. They'd been sitting down, enjoying a meal and watching the continuing carnage in Berlin on the news. Then, there had no longer been a room. The explosion had been so loud that one of Alfred's eardrums had burst, and he currently only had hearing on his left side. There were splinters stuck in a thousand places in his skin, and he had a pretty nasty head wound, which he was pretty sure was causing his vision to waver. Either that, or his eyes were injured too. Which he seriously hoped wasn't the case. His poor double had been impaled through the shoulder with a massive wooden beam, and though Alfred had layered two towels and was holding pressure as hard as he dared, he wasn't sure Al would make it to the hospital.

He wanted to scream at the two Arthurs, but they weren't in much better shape than himself. Both of Arthur's legs were bloody, one of them bent oddly. And of course, Artie had the same wounds he did. Half of his own had probably originated from the man. And that was just the injured in _their_ car. All the guards had grabbed them and rushed them to the onsite vehicles, but they'd been split up in the chaos. Alfred had no idea where Mattie and Matt were, and he could only hope they were somewhere nearby. He'd seen both of them running for the vehicles, so he knew they were alive. At least they _had_ been when the cars had starting hightailing it out of the area. Alfred had never even seen the people who'd attacked them, but he knew they were pursuing them. Every now and then, a blast would erupt somewhere nearby. They were getting more infrequent, which was a good sign, but Alfred wouldn't count Russia's men out just yet.

It wasn't until they pulled into a hospital thirty minutes later that Alfred finally sighed in relief. Doctors and ER staff rushed out and took Al first, finally taking his life out of Alfred's hands. They were escorted on foot into the facility, and Alfred mumbled a tired "see you later" and let himself be guided into a wheelchair. He was rolled into a CAT scan room, where they confirmed he had a nasty concussion. A identical concussion to the one that Artie would have. He berated himself. _He_ was the one who had gotten the head wound. After that, his vision began to waver more, and he felt himself begin to lose his grasp on consciousness. He caught only glimpses of the world around him: a nurse telling him to relax, a IV being inserted, a flashlight being passed over his eyes.

And then, nothing.

When he woke up several hours later, his head pounding and his hearing still distorted, a nurse was in the room. "Hey…" He muttered, his throat dry.

She paused and smiled at him. "Good evening. Do you need anything?"

"W...water?"

She nodded and poured some into a paper cup, lifting it to his face and carefully letting him sip at it until it was gone. "Anything else?"

His mind was hazy, but he managed to remember enough to ask the only questioned he needed to. "Everyone else…are they okay?"

She smiled sadly. "Most of them are, yes. I know your brother," she paused, "both of them, are okay. They just needed some outpatient procedures."

"Who…who isn't?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid Mr. Beilschmidt isn't doing very well. He's comatose right now. His brother is in slightly better shape, but he's also in the ICU."

Alfred swallowed nervously. "Did…did anyone die?"

She hesitated for several moments before nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry, but we couldn't save all of them. Some of them are still in surgery, but we're doing our best." She turned out the light. "You should rest right now. You've been through a lot. When you wake up tomorrow, I'll be able to tell you more, okay?"

He was sleep before she'd closed the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro:<strong> Aw, poor Alfred. I do the worst crap to him, don't I?

**Next Chapter:** Feliciano's first day of training is..._interesting_, to say the least. Meanwhile, Alfred awakens to the resulting carnage of Ivan's latest attack.


	25. Prometheus' Choice

**Dro:** Sorry this wasn't up last night. I've been having hell with my (crappy) satellite internet for the last few days, and it gave up on me last night. Just got it back in working condition earlier today. Tch! Stupid ISP! Anyway, have at it.

**Chapter Summary:** Feliciano's first day of training is..._interesting_. Meanwhile, Alfred wakes up and finally receives news of the devastation of Ivan's attack.

**Warnings: **Violence; Language

**Disclaimer:** Come on, you know me well enough by now, don't you?

* * *

><p>"Are you going to stand there cowering in fear, or are you going to fight me?" Lovino twirled the knife in his hands. Feliciano didn't have a single knife wound or even a cut yet, but he did have plenty of bruises from where his <em>fratello<em> had repeatedly body slammed him, tripped him, and threw him off balance into the nearby building. They had run through the basics of defense and offense when it came to hand to hand combat and combat with weapons like knives, but Lovino kept berating him at every turn. And Feliciano really couldn't blame him.

His resolve to learn hadn't waned, but as soon as they began to fight, he would flash back to Berlin, and the memories kept causing him to falter. He knew he needed to get over it. Ludwig and the assassin bastard had been through much, much worse already, he was sure, and he needed to be able to help them, which was something he couldn't possibly do if he was too afraid to pick up a knife and go at the enemy without hesitation. He shifted back into the fighting stance Lovino had taught him, and his brother raised an eyebrow, still spinning the knife. Lovino didn't even need to come at him with it, he knew. One throw to the right place—neck, eye, gut—and in a real fight, this would all have been over in seconds. He felt like an infant compared to Lovino.

And it wasn't that he didn't have any skills at all—Lovino had told him the opposite repeatedly—but he just couldn't bring himself to fight his brother seriously. Every time he made a move to strike, he would feel himself inching closer and closer to that deep, dark pit that he'd tried his hardest not to fall into back in Berlin. He couldn't deny it. He was afraid of losing himself by doing this. He was afraid of accidentally destroying the things that made him the Italy he was. He wanted to _improve_ his skills, but he didn't want to kill everything that made him different from his other self in the process. Yet every time he raised that knife, it felt like he was doing exactly that. It was so against his nature, and it was partly his fight-hating nature that made him the nation he'd always been. To successfully do what he wanted to do would take a very careful effort to maintain a very fragile balance. One wrong move in one direction, and he would lose himself. One wrong move in the other, and it could very well cost him not only his own life but the lives of everyone he was doing this for in the first place.

But when it came down to it, one of those things was more important the other. And thus, he _would_ go through with this, even if he had to fight himself the entire way there.

He tensed his muscles and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He heard Lovino take off, and his eyes snapped open, his body ducking instinctively. He quickly shuffled around behind Lovino and brought the knife up, only to have Lovino's own knife—backed by a much stronger arm—meet it halfway. Lovino frowned.

"Not only are you exceptionally slow, but you're _still_ hesitating. Just let go, Feliciano."

Feliciano frowned back. "That's exactly what I'm trying _not_ to do."

Green eyes rolled around in their sockets. "And that's why you're failing so miserably."

He huffed. "Ve, I'm _trying_ my best."

"No, you're not. You're letting your inhibitions get in the way. Remember when you were in Berlin. Remember when you fought to protect Ludwig. You fought valiantly and without restraint because their lives were at stake, right?"

He nodded silently.

"Well, think about this way, Feliciano. They are _always_ in danger now. In fact, I'll bet that Ivan has already made his next move against them. Everything you're trying to learn here will help you protect them better. Every move you master will be a move you can use to save their lives again and again. And every second we are here, we are not _there_ to help them at all. So the faster you learn—the faster you _let go_ and let your instincts take over—the faster we will get to them. If you keep _this_ up for too much longer, we won't arrive until they're long dead and gone."

He swallowed. "Ve, I know. I know. I just…" His hand slackened on the knife. He felt his pulse racing, and the rate of the thoughts coursing through his mind matched it. He closed his eyes again and just _thought_. About everything. About nothing.

And then he moved. He swung faster and harder than he had the entire day. He let the world around him fade, and he focused on only two things. Lovino's movements and his drive to protect Ludwig. This time, he caught Lovino's leg with his periphery as it moved to trip him, and he jumped over it, landing on the font of his feet, spinning, and jutting out his leg to trip Lovino the same way. But Lovino was still better. He evaded Feliciano with ease. Lovino moved like the wind, Feliciano noted. Once second he was fast and furious and deadly. The next he was calm and composed. One second he was there. The next he wasn't. Feliciano needed to move like that, needed to move in a way that was both flawless and unpredictable.

So he tried.

And he failed.

He fell to his knees a few moments later, Lovino's speed catching him off guard. He'd known Lovino was just toying with him, of course. He wasn't moving nearly as fast as he could, nor was he using his full strength. Feliciano clenched his teeth tightly and grasped the knife harder. He could do this. He _had_ to.

Lovino snorted. "Well, gee, I tried this the nice way, and that didn't work. So what do I do now?" He kept spinning that goddamned knife. He crouched down, and Feliciano looked up to meet his gaze. Lovino's green eyes were hard and merciless. "Did Ludwig ever tell you what happened to this world's Germany?"

Feliciano swallowed nervously. "Yes. He said that…that he was killed." He frowned.

"By who?"

Feliciano forced himself to look away. "Um…" He knew who. Even if Ludwig hadn't wanted him to know, he knew who had done it. He had seen it in Ludwig's eyes when he and America had been telling the story. Ludwig never wanted to talk about the other Germany. But Feliciano had figured out. He'd never said anything about it. He knew _why_ Ludwig wanted to keep it from him, so he played along with the charade. "The…the other me."

Lovino shook his head. "No. Feliciano did not kill him. I did."

Cold rushed through his veins. "What?"

"I killed him. I grabbed my own brother's hand as it held a kitchen knife, and I forced him to stab it into Germany's back. I killed him. And not only did I kill him, but I also emotionally destroyed my own Feliciano in the process."

"You…you killed…"

"Yep." Lovino blinked at him, apathetic.

"Why…why would you do something like that?"

"Because I was ordered to by Ivan." He turned around, still spinning that _fucking knife_.

"But…but why?"

He paused and shrugged. "I didn't think too much about it at the time."

"You didn't care?" It came out as a whimper. "You didn't care that you killed Ludwig?"

"At the time? Nope. Not a bit. He was meaningless on my radar back then. And if it hadn't hurt Feliciano like it did, he would still be today."

Something cracked. He took off, coming at Lovino full speed. Lovino dodged the first blow, but more followed. He struck out with everything he had, and Lovino parried, knives clanging, hands catching fists. Lovino tried to throw off his balance, but he jumped before the other man could manage, flipped over him, and brought his knee up, smashing it into Lovino's nose. His brother stumbled, and Feliciano slammed the hilt of the knife into his forehead, sending him reeling. Then he was on him again, pinning him to ground. He raised the knife and brought it down, chipping the concrete next to Lovino's head.

His breathing was ragged. "How _dare_ you. How dare you say something like that about Ludwig!"

Lovino chuckled, breathless, blood rushing down his face. "I can't believe you fell for that."

Feliciano pursed his lips, realizing he'd just been played. "You…you…that was…_Dio,_ you're such a bastard!" He pushed himself off his fallen brother and angrily stomped away. But before he was out of earshot, he quite clearly head his brother's last comment.

"Told you you could do it."

* * *

><p>Alfred woke slowly, his eyelids heavy from pain medication and dulled aching. The ceiling came into focus first, and for a long while, that was the only thing he bothered to look at. The first thing he had to do was get his muddled brain to remember why he was in the hospital. After he'd established that they'd been attacked by Ivan again, he tried to remembered what had happened after that, but all he could recall was vague flashes of bright explosions and bursts of pain. Which he figured was pretty accurate. Finally, he turned his head, only to see Mattie sitting nearby, dozing in a chair next to his bed.<p>

He swallowed, his throat extremely dry and sore. "Mattie…" He rasped. "Mattie!" He voice was barely there, but his brother seemed to hear him nonetheless. Matthew's eyes fluttered opened, and he gaze at Alfred for a few moments, uncomprehending. Then he gasped, sitting up.

"Alfred! Are you…are you okay? How do you feel?" There was a stitched up cut on his forehead and his left arm was in a sling, but he didn't seem to have anything more serious than that. Which Alfred was thankful for. The bruises on Mattie's face were finally fading away, and it hurt to think that those would just be replaced with more caused by Ivan's agenda.

"All right. Mostly. They've got me on some good pain meds right now."

Mattie nodded and smiled. "I'm glad." His face lit up with relief, and Alfred couldn't help but smile. He hadn't seen such a look on Mattie's face in what felt like forever.

"Me too. For you. And…" He didn't want that precious look to fade, but he knew had to ask the question. "Mattie…what about everyone else?"

Mattie's smile faltered. "Everyone…" He sighed. "The other me is fine. A sprained ankle, a dislocated shoulder, some bruising of the ribs, and a few mild burns. The other you made it through, but he probably won't wake up for a while. He lost a lot of blood, and he needed multiple transfusions. Arthur is okay too. And Artie. Arthur needed some major surgery on his legs, but he got through it just fine. He woke up a little earlier. Artie wasn't much worse off than you. He was still asleep last time I saw him. Um…but…"

He placed his hands over his brother's, which was gripping the railing of the bed. "Mattie, I need to know."

His brother nodded grimly. "I know that. It's just…We lost Denmark. Sweden is barely hanging on. The doctors are still trying to save one of Netherlands' _arms_. Vash was having another major surgery the last I heard. His…his chest was _crushed_ by a falling beam. Ludwig was _impaled_ in the stomach, and he isn't doing very well right now. And…And _God_, Gilbert's currently in a coma with barely any brain function. This is…This is quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened, Al. I don't know if we're going to recover from this one. And in the time it will take us to do so—if it's possible—Ivan will have all the time and opportunities he needs to pick up right where he left off."

"We'll get through this, Matt."

Mattie blinked back tears. "I hope so. I hope for everyone's sake that we do. Because if we don't, then we lose. Right here. And there will be nothing that anyone can do to stop Ivan."

* * *

><p><strong>Dro:<strong> Wow, that was kinda mean, Lovi...

**Next Chapter:** Alfred goes around to check on all the other nations. His meeting Al ends in disaster. His meeting with Arthur ends in confusion. His meeting with Artie ends up...well, you'll see.


	26. In the Days Before the Fall

**Dro:** Hey, look! I'm not dead. Yay! Now read and review while I attempt to fall asleep with my awful headache.** Please?**

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred talks.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **Despite my extended absence, I still have not acquired the rights to APH.

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><p>A white world that was bright and flickering was a world that one could feel safe in, could get up, feeling refreshed, and move spritely about in without another care in that shining white world. But a white world that was dull and lifeless had the opposite effect. With each step that Alfred took down that lifeless white hallway, he felt another piece of himself begin to slip away. There wasn't a single smiling face. There wasn't a single laugh. There wasn't a single shred of hope to be found in the entire building. Most of the rooms were filled with pained patients, the most seriously injured of the Berlin bombing who'd been spirited away for care that the city they'd called their home could no longer provide them. The only others there were the nations.<p>

Or what was left of them.

He'd gotten the news just minutes ago. First Denmark. Now Sweden. The Nordic countries had been torn apart, and it was only bound to get worse from here. The doctors had been unable to save Netherland's right arm, and he was currently in a medically induced coma to recover from his failed surgery. Switzerland was in an even _worse_ condition. His heart and lungs had been heavily damaged, and they weren't sure he'd make it to the end of day. Germany was still unconscious, though he'd been stabilized, and there'd been no change in Gilbert's condition. Most of the others were either still unconscious, undergoing additional surgery, or beginning to attempt to deal with the major blow they'd all been dealt. In a world that had already lost so many nations, they just…they couldn't afford to lose anymore. And yet they were still.

And if they couldn't stop Ivan, then they would inevitably lose them all.

Mattie had excused himself earlier and gone to get himself something to eat and rest. Though he wasn't badly injured, this incident had sapped his strength. And Alfred knew the feeling well. Though they had him on more medications than he could name, his head was still pounding and his body still throbbing. He stopped several times along his path down the hallway, trying to regain his bearings. The world seemed to waver around him, and it only made the situation all that more surreal. When he finally made it to his first destination, he rested against the edge of the open doorway, peering in at his counterpart for several seconds as he attempted to steady his sight.

Al was staring blankly out the window, his shoulder and side bandaged up with more of that soul-sucking white that Alfred was coming to hate more and more by the second. He made no motion to acknowledge Alfred's presence, and for a moment Alfred doubted the man knew he was there. Until he spoke.

"What do you want?" It was brusque and cold.

"Um…I just…I just wanted to see how you were feeling." He certainly hadn't expected _this_ kind of reaction, especially considering he'd been the one to keep his double _alive_ until they'd arrived at the hospital.

"Like shit." His counterpart answered, refusing to break his eyes away from the window. "Anything else you need?"

Alfred snorted. "The hell is wrong with you?"

"A lot of shit is wrong with me, _Alfred_, okay? And I seriously don't feel like talking about it right now. Especially with _you_."

Alfred stared, confused. "And what the hell did I do to you to piss you off?"

"You really want to know?" He finally dared to glance at Alfred, his eyes narrow and angry. "Well, for starters, you presence in my world has done nothing but cause problems. Secondly, you and Artie have been consistently lying to me about something, and despite the fact that I have yet to figure out just what it is, I was highly intrigued by what the doctors told me earlier. And mighty suspicious too." He spat out every word.

_Shit_. Alfred felt a cold chill travel though his body. _He knows._ This is exactly what he'd been afraid of. The bond between himself and Artie had always been at risk of becoming obvious, but he'd hoped that in the confusion of the attack, no one would notice. But he should've known that Al would pick up on it. Al was _him_ after all.

"Look, I don't know what you _think_ you've discovered, but you really need to get your act together. The last thing we need is to fall apart. We lose our ability to work together, and you might as well just walk up to Ivan with a white flag." He hoped his counterpart would buy it, at least for now. But he was just out of luck today.

"Don't pull that bullshit on me. I know _my_ tricks, and you can't use them on me. Now I'm going to ask you this, and I want you to answer me truthfully. _What_ is going on between you and Artie?"

Alfred stared at his double, feeling more tired than he had in his entire life. And for the first time in that extended, nation life, he truly felt a sense of hopelessness overcome him. And so instead of standing his ground and facing off again his enemy like he'd _never_ failed to do in the past, he turned around and walked away without another word.

* * *

><p>By the time he made his way to Arthur's room, he was sure he would pass out any second. His head was throbbing with each beat of his heart, and his body was nearing its breaking point. He knew he should have sat down and rested, but he just couldn't bring himself to give up. He'd already destroyed a huge part of himself by leaving his "fight" with Al unfinished. The last thing he needed was to completely surrender. He had a mission, and he was intent on finishing it.<p>

Arthur looked happier than Alfred could ever remember. Well, it wasn't _joy_, of course but the relieved smile that lit up his gorgeous green eyes made Alfred's dull white world feel just a little brighter. He approached Arthur without hesitation and sat down at his bedside. Wordlessly, they brought their hands together and intertwined their fingers.

"How are you feeling?" He asked softly.

Arthur sighed. "Better than I was earlier, but my legs are still hurting. What about you?" He used his free hand to brush the stray hairs out of Alfred's eyes. "You look dreadful, love."

Alfred snorted. "Thanks, Arthur. I appreciate the compliment."

Arthur smiled sadly. "So, have you heard the latest news? Denmark _and_ Sweden now?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Unfortunately, I have."

"Alfred, we have to do _something_. Ivan is too far ahead of us. If he regains control of Russia, there's no way we can stop him. He's not playing any of the mind games you spoke of before. He's just…He's just defaulted to all out assault and destruction."

Alfred shook his head. "That's where you're wrong, Arthur." He'd been thinking about it for several hours now, and though he'd originally avoided this exact conclusion, he could no longer deny the truth. "He hasn't stopped the mind games at all. He's just brought them up to the next level. _Raping_ Mattie, bombing Berlin, attacking us like this. These aren't just random violent incidents. Every step—even the tiniest movement—is being meticulously planned. He hurt Mattie to throw _us_—Matt, Al, Artie, you, and me—off our game. He knew it would crack us in a way that nothing else could. All his banter about all out war and mercilessness? That's just another part of the strategy. Berlin was bombed because he knew we'd be coming there, and he knew he could drive us away from the anonymity of the city by destroying all the places we would dare to hide there. He _purposefully_ got us sent to the safe house, just so he could freely attack us uninhibited. And of course, the attack itself was never designed to kill us all. Not by a long shot. If it had been, we'd all be dead right now. He could have dropped a much more powerful bomb on the house, but he didn't. He dropped one just powerful enough to kill a few and hurt us all. Just so we would all be forced to sit back helplessly and watch him regain his power. The mind games never stopped, Arthur. In fact, I think they're just beginning."

* * *

><p>Arthur had grown quiet after his comments, and Alfred couldn't make him speak anymore. He wasn't sure just what he'd triggered, but it was scaring him to death. By the time he'd stumbled his way to Artie's room—courtesy of Arthur's silent dismissal—he was on the verge of falling out on the floor. He was tired. He was confused. He felt <em>defeated<em>.

Which was exactly how Ivan wanted him to feel.

He knew at this point that he would have to make his visit with Artie his last. Despite the nagging feeling that he was neglecting Matt, he knew his body just wasn't up for it yet. Yet another defeat to his name. He shook his head and approached the partially opened door, peeking inside just in case he was interrupting something. He wasn't.

He slipped silently into the room, but Artie sensed his presence immediately. And he knew exactly why. It was the whole problem with this whole situation. And while this damned bond of theirs did not—by any degree—supersede the Ivan problem, it was still throwing one wrench too many into their plans. He'd known from the beginning that they'd never be able to keep this a secret forever. Someone had been bound to notice eventually. But now, Al had at least caught on to the very basics of the problem, and he knew they would be eventually be driven into a corner they could never escape from.

"Alfred."

"Artie."

Their eyes met.

"Someone knows." Artie said simply, and it made Alfred wonder just how far this bond had developed.

"Al. He, uh, well…apparently the doctors described each of our injuries and, uh…he picked up on…_it_." He sank into the chair next to Artie's bed. Artie _looked_ exactly like he _felt_, and he wondered if he had the same exact haggard appearance.

"I see. Did you tell him?"

He shook his head. "I couldn't. I thought about it for exactly one point five seconds, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. If we tell, it'll ruin things even further."

"And if we don't, we will just steadily erode the emotional bonds each of us have with our lovers. So where does that leave us, Alfred?" Arthur looked wistfully out of the window, and Alfred suddenly saw the specter of Al on the other side of it, looking back in from his own hospital bed.

"I don't know where that leaves us. I don't know at all. Either way, we're doomed to some degree. If we tell, everything has a high probability of falling apart on the spot. But it we wait, things will get worse slowly, degrading to a point where our relationships can no longer be maintained. We're damned either way, Artie."

Artie nodded silently along with his words. "I know. I just…I just don't know if I'm ready yet. I waited for so long to get Al to notice me, to notice my feelings. And I'm afraid of even risking letting that go. It's one thing to die with our relationship intact. I would have been happy sacrificing myself for you, knowing that the two of you would have gone on to save this world. But it's another thing to watch everything I worked so hard to build fall apart right in front of my eyes. Especially as a result of me attempting to something worthwhile."

"Artie…" Their hands brushed, and they froze, shocked into immobility by the spark of electricity that seemed to emanate from their connected skin. Artie's eyes took on that same look they'd held that night at the lake, that night that Alfred had pretended had never happened, had banished from all his troubled thoughts. But he couldn't pretend _this_ wasn't happening, couldn't deny what the bond had changed between them. They had already crossed into forbidden territory long ago. And this, this was just the logical next step. They were bound in way that was destined to dismantle the lives they'd had _before_.

Now there was only the _after_.

They kissed.

* * *

><p><strong>Dro:<strong> Such a simple sounding chapter, but it sets up so many important things.

**Next Chapter:** News reaches the allied Italy brothers about the attack on the nations, and Feliciano is forced to make a difficult choice.


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